The visions would occur whether he drank or not, whether he took intoxicants or abstained. What remained unclear was whether his dreams were feeding this, or it was the other way around: manifestations of his anxiety becoming those shadows in his nightmares, or the creatures seeping out into his consciousness from the dreams.
He cancelled meetings, leaving the decision-making chiefly to others – Russart, he assumed – and eventually eschewed the company of anyone, for fear they might see him getting worse and worse; jumping at those shadows, as Madame Ellada had put it. Indeed, he barely left his chambers now, making the excuse that a sickness had taken hold of him (it wasn’t technically a lie) and when he looked in the mirror now Grail saw someone who was exhausted and unkempt. Who sported more stubble than Sachael Dhane, his hair wild and sticking out as if electrified, and with thick, dark rings around his eyes.
During one particular acute episode Grail became unsure whether he was even awake or asleep, the lines between his world and the one when he closed his eyes blurring into each other, that tingling taking over his entire body. The shadows were no longer as subtle as they’d once been, the creatures he’d seen with the tentacles, eyes, and now horns and spikes, were not hiding anymore. His whole body shivered with terror. They’d surrounded him, as he stood there in the middle with all his wealth. Bony things with swollen bellies, horns on their heads, who wore their ribs on the outside of their bodies, mucus dripping from them, making droning noises as they approached. Others, creatures of multi-coloured flame, bounded along dribbling fire and sparks behind them. Alluring women with the legs of birds, arms ending in snapping claws, slavering and licking, veins throbbing underneath their grey skin. The whispering was there again too, more demands. Grail almost got the sense that his desire and greed were somehow attracting them, feeding them.
More, you can do more! Finish your work!
At any moment, though, he expected to see Russart burst in, to ask if he was all right. Only this time he didn’t.
So, instead, Grail steeled himself and burst through the circle enveloping him. He escaped out into the corridor and rushed to his bodyguard’s quarters. Gaining access, he slammed the door behind him and pressed himself up against it.
‘Gov… Governor?’ said a shocked Russart, who was at his table poring over documents. ‘I wasn’t expecting–’
‘R-Russart, what are you doing? You’re supposed to… supposed to be protecting me!’ Grail spluttered.
‘I am busy doing just that. I’m going over the final security arrangements for the ball tomorrow,’ he stated. ‘Why?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Grail had lost all track of the time and the days.
‘You look…’ Russart pulled a face, but didn’t finish. ‘Are you not feeling any better?’
‘I’m… I’m all right,’ said Grail but he couldn’t convince himself, let alone Russart. ‘Just tired.’
‘The dreams?’ said Russart, rising. ‘Or something more?’ When Grail didn’t answer, he continued. ‘You know, I often think about that time on the frontline, at Fennan’s Pass. I often dream about it as well. Especially those final few moments, the waiting.’
And now, having heard that, Grail couldn’t help remembering lying there in the mud and dirt, in the aftermath of the explosion.
His body had shielded Russart’s, protecting it as if he knew he would get that protection back in return one day. Feeling the pain in his shoulder, seeing the redness there. But neither of them moving. Moments stretching out into eternity, losing track of time. Grail silently calling out for help with all his mind and soul to anyone that would listen. For them to be saved.
Then the sounds of warfare still raging up above, but something else: the distinctive sound of Thunderhawks descending, of bolter fire. The sound that meant help had finally arrived.
And now flashes of blue and white amongst the green, of giants in armour taking up the battle.
‘Down here, two Guardsmen!’ Grail heard someone shouting. Then people in the trenches with them, moving them, lifting them. Congratulating them for holding the line, for holding off the orks as long as they had; the enemies of the Imperium had lost one battle here today.
The helmeted figures in front of them. Helmets turning into horned and bony faces with lots of teeth.
Encouraging him to–
He was being shaken and Grail started, realised he was back in Russart’s quarters.
‘Governor?’ asked Russart. ‘I lost you there for a moment. What is it? Please tell me.’
Could he? Could he really confide in him? ‘I-I feel like something has finally awoken inside me. Does that make any sense?’
Russart shook his head.
‘Perhaps even something that’s always… That was set in motion long ago, a connection, that is, at last… And it wants something from me. Something important, to do with this place. You’ve heard rumours about what’s out there, as well as I. And…’ Grail put his head in his hands.
‘You’re scaring me, Tob… Governor, sir.’ Russart led him to his chair and sat him down.
‘I-I’m scaring myself!’ he admitted. Grail suddenly grabbed hold of Russart’s sleeve, clutching it, pulling him in closer. ‘My enemies, Russart, they cannot be allowed to…’
‘You’re safe, sir. You’re quite safe.’
Grail’s eyes dropped to the plans on the table Russart was examining. They were, as he’d come to expect, incredibly detailed. He would be kept safe, no one would be able to get to him.
‘If you need to postpone tomorrow…’ Russart said. ‘Or perhaps I might act in your stead?’
Grail rose again sharply, knocking over the chair. ‘Is that it?’ he cried out. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘No, it’s just–’
‘You would seek to ingratiate yourself with the dignitaries attending? I see now, I see… I thought you were happy with our arrangement, Russart?’
‘I am,’ said the man, but couldn’t look Grail in the eye. ‘That is, I mean… I work hard for you, sir. A little more acknowledgement might be–’
‘More acknowledgement!’
More, you can have more!
Grail backed away. ‘You want to broker some of the deals I have initiated myself, is that it? Take advantage of some of the contacts who are arriving?’
‘I simply meant–’
Grail held up his hand, continued to back out of his bodyguard’s room. ‘I shall be there to greet them myself, Russart! Do not worry about that!’ He would make sure of it, he’d decided; wouldn’t allow Russart or anyone else to take credit for his accomplishments.
No matter what it took, he would be there.
It had been worth it, simply to see the look on Russart’s face.
Shaved, bathed and in full dress uniform, Governor Tobias Grail had arrived at the ball in his fortress with plenty of time to spare before the first of the guests arrived: one Baron Kinnsel from the neighbouring mine-city of Forndosa, who brought with him his wife and two daughters. As the event dictated, as well as dressing in their very best finery – he in a frock-coat and breeches, the ladies in cream and white silks, satins and frills – each person was wearing a mask. The baron’s was a gold affair, which covered his eyes, while his companions had chosen delicately patterned silver façades that they held up on the end of sticks, and which constantly seemed to be getting in the way of the curly wigs they’d donned.
‘And are you not wearing a mask yourself, Governor Grail?’ asked the baron, once the introductions to his family had concluded.
It was the one thing missing from his own ‘costume’, and he explained that he preferred people to see him as he was. ‘I have nothing to hide,’ he said with a small chuckle.
‘Oh, where is the fun in that?’ tittered Lady Kinnsel.
‘Indeed!’ said the baron, then lowered his voice, leaning in. ‘In fact, I’m h
oping we can have a talk later about a few… matters of business?’
Grail nodded. ‘Yes, of course. But for now, please do enjoy the hospitality on offer.’
Russart, for his part, was wearing a charcoal-coloured mask that fitted over his entire forehead, matching the colour of his own attire. He was flitting about, making sure his security teams had entrances and exits covered, not to mention everything in between, as more and more guests arrived.
‘You really have transformed this place,’ the Duchess Sillerby said to him, craning her neck to take in the pillars of the enormous room, the paintings adorning the walls of various battles from the Imperium’s history. Her puffed-up, mustard-coloured dress and mask made her look even more washed out than usual. ‘I haven’t visited in… oh, it must be four years now. You’ve done wonders, as indeed I hear you have with ore production everywhere on Aranium.’
‘You must be very proud,’ said her husband, who looked more like her father; white-grey beard flowing down from his own mask and cushioning his neck.
‘We… I am,’ said Grail, accepting the compliment gratefully.
Very proud. You’ve done well. And your work is not yet finished!
Over the course of the evening, the ballroom steadily filled up with bodies, dresses and masks in rainbow colours; some of the guests eating the food that had been provided, which ran down the sides of the room on never-ending tables; others dancing now that the full orchestra had started up. Grail had finished eating a large serving of cake, washing it down with some of the finest wine available in the province, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, but would you care to…’ asked a woman in an electric-blue dress, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, a mask that was of a much darker blue covering the top half of her face. She nodded towards the dancers in the hall. Grail recognised her from somewhere, but wasn’t sure where. Madame Ellada’s perhaps? He knew Russart had arranged for a few of her employees, male and female, to be on hand, in case any of the guests might want entertainment of a more exotic nature later on.
‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ said Grail, holding out his hand to take hers, which was gloved, up to her elbow. He led and they began to dance, mixing in with the other people in the crowd. The lady with the auburn hair laughed and he couldn’t help doing the same. Maybe he would enjoy her company himself, he thought; it had been some time since his last visit to the backstreets, after all. Once business had been concluded, perhaps. Yes, then.
The music swelled, the pace quickened, and the pair began to spin. Grail smiled, then laughed again. The woman laughed too, hair flying around madly as she danced. Flying around her head with a life of its own, almost like–
Like tentacles attached to her head, coming out of her face. Grail squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them again. The scene had reverted back to normal. Just a flash of–
He felt that tingling sensation, a warning.
Grail banged into a dancer on his right, turning to apologise but seeing, instead of a man or woman, a thing with beaked features. Some of the masks were indeed of this variety, he reminded himself, but the one gazing at him now was so intricate it had to be real. The sound accompanying it: that of flapping, leathery wings.
He let go of the woman he was dancing with, veering off to the right and away from both her and the bird-man. Falling instead into someone whose face was all scales and jagged teeth, eyes jet-black and reflecting his own sweating, fleshy countenance.
‘No, this can’t be! Not here. Please, not now!’ he was crying out. Grail stepped on someone’s toes, and looked down – only to see a fine line of coloured scales curling around that dancer’s bare calves. He felt the bile rising in him at the sight of such corruption.
He couldn’t hear the music for the sound of the whispering.
Finish your work! More!
Grail pushed one body aside, then another, just as he had when he’d been trying to escape from his chambers. Except that seemed like the only secure place for him now, in his room.
‘Russart!’ he bellowed, though he couldn’t see his aide. ‘Russart, get all of these… Get them out of here!’
Grail looked from face to face. He saw the bewilderment of regals and the high-born, then the green-skinned ugliness of orks, tusks protruding from their mouths, before finally monsters of a different kind. Those he had only encountered of late. Things low-born from the shadows but now so varied in their palettes: pinks, blues, greens and reds. Approaching him, waking something inside him.
It felt like it went on forever, losing track of time.
There were cries and screams as the guests assumed they were in danger, which actually helped clear the room. The music had ceased, the musicians being ushered to the exits. Grail staggered on, tumbling away from them all, attempting to escape up the corridor. Leaving the panicked noise of over a hundred people–
The explosions, the sound of las-fire.
–leaving it all behind him, eager to be back in his chambers. To be safe, to protect what was his. Grail virtually fell through the door, shutting it again and barricading it after him; shoving a chair and table against it.
He rushed into the bedroom, grabbing the box that looked like a bench, dragging it onto his bed and opening it with his handprint. Checking to make sure they were all still there, his most precious items.
Then, a sound. Out in the shadows. Grail called for the light, but just as before it only turned on the smaller bedside one; didn’t extend far enough to identify who was present. Someone who’d snuck in, who wanted what was his.
You can have more!
‘W-who is it? Identify yourself!’ More monsters, more of the creatures he’d seen in his dreams and in the real world? That had truly awoken him?
No. As the figure stepped out into the light, Grail saw his old friend Russart once more, his mask discarded. He sighed with relief. The man had got here before him. Had been waiting for him, to protect him.
‘Governor, sir.’
‘Oh, thank goodness! I thought–’
‘Enough of all that. Let’s get on with our business, shall we? You know what it is that I want,’ said his bodyguard. ‘You’ve known all along. Suspected anyway.’
‘What?’ spluttered Grail.
‘Your power, your wealth. All of it. I’m tired of being in the shadows. We both survived that day at Fennan’s Pass, but only one of us became governor of this world.’
Grail pointed accusingly: ‘You? You did this to me? Poisoned me? What? Was it taking too long?’
Russart didn’t reply, he just drew his laspistol, finger on the trigger.
‘Russart, no!’
‘Yes,’ said the man, and fired.
Grail didn’t hear the shot, but he felt the searing pain in his chest. Realised he was tumbling backwards onto the bed; knocking the box over with him, releasing the precious gems and metals, jewellery. The things that gave him the most pleasure, the most comfort: tokens, trinkets, souvenirs and charms; being showered in them.
But something else. The thing that fell to the ground with him, the last item he saw before everything went totally black. Before the shadows surrounded him a final time.
The medal he’d received for his actions that day on Fennan’s Pass, now dark and tarnished, covered with intricate, repellant designs like nothing he’d ever seen before. It – and he – now belonged, he realised in his final moments, to those very same monsters that had been haunting him.
Reminders of promises he needed to keep, a transaction when the time came. Getting him away safely, from his old homeworld, from the warzone at Fennan’s Pass. More than simply luck, building up his career, his station. But with a debt to be paid; a mutual understanding.
To create a point of weakness on Aranium, which was not only of strategic importance – a planet from which to launch a whole new wave of attacks �
� but whose natural resources would support their own mortal armies.
The forces of Chaos. The masters he had been serving without fully understanding it, and who he had failed.
Just as they had failed to keep him alive this time.
To keep him safe.
Laspistol still raised and out in front, the figure stepped closer to Governor Tobias Grail.
They knew the pict recorders were recording everything, that evidence of what had happened here would be found by the right people; they would make sure of it. That when he woke up, the real Russart would be charged with murder, and a new governor would be appointed to the mining world of Aranium.
The figure sorted through the items Grail had kept hidden away; but took only one, an old military medal.
The figure looked up and made sure the recorder above got a decent image of that borrowed face, then withdrew again. It was a face that had been altered using the drug polymorphine, made to look like Grail’s second, while the man himself slept in his own quarters. It had been easy enough to get to him, incapacitate him; easy as well to get to the governor’s chambers ahead of its owner.
Easy enough for her, thought Vess, a member of the Officio Assassinorum’s Callidus Temple. A highly trained killer. She’d been here, observing, for some time. One of the slaves during the exchange with Dhane; one of the girls at Madame Ellada’s; a nameless woman at the ball. Making sure the psykers’ predictions would never come to pass. That the Dark Gods and their forces, who had been using greed and paranoia to manipulate Grail, would never gain control of this planet.
Vess left quietly now, the same way she’d entered; faded into the shadows, barely seen, her task finally completed. It always started off the same way, but would end up different every time: would twist and turn, getting on with business until the job was done. Until her work was finished. There was no satisfaction, no feelings either way.
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