The Eye of Ezekiel

by C Z Dunn

  The rest of the command squad, even Serpicus, nodded in affirmation.

  ‘You all know your tasks, brothers. In three days’ time Fifth Company goes back to war. With the Lion and the Emperor at our backs, victory is assured!’

  Librarian, Apothecary, Techmarine and Chaplain alike gave the sign of the aquila followed by the salute of the Lion. Zadakiel returned each one in turn before the command squad dispersed to make ready for the forthcoming battle. Zadakiel went to follow them out of the strategium, but Ezekiel stopped him at the threshold.

  ‘Do you know where I might find Brother Balthasar, company master?’ Ezekiel asked. Even with his diminished psychic abilities he knew exactly where Balthasar was at this present moment, but he was going through the pretence with Zadakiel out of courtesy.

  ‘Sergeant Balthasar is where he always is – in the training chambers drilling his squad. I’ve never met a Space Marine so meticulous in his approach to battle, and I’ve encountered more than a few Ultramarines in my time.’ There was something ominous about the way Zadakiel said ‘encountered’. ‘He’ll be Deathwing some day, you mark my words.’

  ‘That day may be sooner than you think, master,’ Ezekiel said.

  ‘Joadar…?’

  ‘Dead. Grand Master Danatheum informed me when last I communed with him. He has asked that I assess Balthasar to see whether he is worthy to ascend.’

  A mixture of surprise and scepticism registered on Zadakiel’s features.

  ‘What is the matter, Master Zadakiel? Do you not think me up to the task?’

  ‘I have no doubt that you are up to the task, Brother Ezekiel. There’s not a single Dark Angel in the Librarius who comes close to your level of ability.’

  ‘You flatter me, master.’

  ‘What troubles me is why Danatheum would break with tradition and protocol in such a manner. It has always fallen to the Grand Master of Librarians to judge the worthiness of those earmarked for the Deathwing. Does he not expect to survive his current mission against the necrontyr?’

  ‘Grand Master Danatheum will outlive us all, I am certain.’

  Zadakiel laughed. ‘You’re probably right. Nobody gives the old grox enough credit for his tactical acumen and fighting ability, regardless of his psychic prowess. If he didn’t wear the blue he’d be a company master, of that I have no doubt.’

  ‘I concur. He has taught me as much about the art of warfare as he has about mastery of my warp gift.’

  Zadakiel looked contemplative. At that moment, Ezekiel wished he could have reached into the company master’s mind and stolen the thought that preoccupied him.

  ‘For what my opinion is worth,’ Zadakiel said, his features softening, ‘I believe that Brother Balthasar is worthy of ascension, but that he is not yet ready for it.’

  ‘Thank you for your candour, master. I shall bear that in mind when I make my recommendation.’ The two Dark Angels exchanged the salute of the Lion before Zadakiel took his leave.

  ‘Are your powers of foresight returning, brother?’ said Turmiel, stepping once more from the shadows. Ezekiel had been aware of his presence but at the same time somehow unaware. Was the Codicier deliberately trying to conceal his psychic spoor? ‘Did you really foresee that we shall exit the warp after the orks have made planetfall?’

  Saying nothing, Ezekiel exited the strategium heading in the direction of the training chambers.

  The report of bolter fire echoed along the cold corridors of the Sword of Caliban, guiding Ezekiel to his quarry.

  Inside the chamber, Sergeant Balthasar led his squad in a drill as old as the Chapter itself, splitting their number so that half laid suppressing fire under which the other half could advance. The carpet of body parts and the ruined frames of training servitors were testimony to how effective his tutelage had been, and as Ezekiel lingered in the entrance First Squad of the Fifth Company made short work of the remaining automata.

  The exercise seemed over but Ezekiel delayed interrupting as all ten Dark Angels remained alert, weapons trained on the inert servitors for signs of motion. Their prudence was swiftly rewarded as a number of previously neutralised units rose to their feet, the las­rifles grafted to them in place of arms coming noisily to life. As one, Squad Balthasar let rip with their bolters, shredding the reanimated servitors before any of them could get off a second shot.

  Ezekiel was impressed, not only with the squad’s performance but also with Balthasar’s thoroughness. As far as he knew, the brothers of the Fifth Company were on their way to fight the necrons, and so the sergeant had his squad training against servitors hardwired to mimic their fighting style. Ezekiel had used the same protocols when training his wards, most recently Turmiel, but he had never seen a unit reanimate before.

  Satisfied that he had seen enough, the Librarian gave Balthasar a psychic prod to alert the sergeant to his presence. Turning sharply in response to the violation of his mind, the helmetless sergeant scowled.

  ‘That’s enough for now,’ Balthasar said to his squad. ‘Take your bolters back to the armoury for anointing and have the serfs clean and ready your armour. We go again in an hour. Combat blades only this time.’

  Stopping only to retrieve discarded weapons, the nine green-armoured warriors took their leave of the chamber, making the salute of the Lion to both of their superiors. At the edge of the room, a dozen serfs stood in anticipation awaiting a signal from either of the remaining Dark Angels. Ezekiel nodded in their direction and they swept onto the cold, rockcrete floor to retrieve discarded shell cases and remove the wrecked servitors.

  ‘The servitors coming back to life was quite the surprise, sergeant,’ Ezekiel said, warmly. ‘Has Master Serpicus been tinkering again?’

  ‘At my request, Epistolary,’ Balthasar said, not reflecting the Librarian’s tone. ‘The Techmarine and I share the same views when it comes to the betterment of the Chapter. Short of keeping live specimens of all the foes we are likely to go to war with chained up in the Rock, this will have to suffice.’

  Ezekiel smiled involuntarily at Balthasar’s lament.

  ‘Does something amuse you, Epistolary?’

  ‘Not at all, brother,’ Ezekiel said, gravely. He looked the sergeant up and down as if inspecting him. ‘Tell me, why is it you dislike me and the other brothers of the Librarius so deeply? Do you fear us, Balthasar?’

  ‘I do not fear you, Epistolary, nor any of our psychic brethren.’ Balthasar locked gazes with Ezekiel. ‘But nor do I trust you.’

  ‘You do not trust us? Why is that? Do you not think we have the Chapter’s best interests at heart?‘

  ‘I believe your intentions are true, but ultimately you and your kind are conduits for the warp, and it is the warp that cannot be trusted.’

  ‘But you place your trust in the warp every time you step aboard the Sword or any of the other ships of the fleet.’

  ‘Reluctantly,’ Balthasar said, still staring intently at the Librarian. ‘What is to stop us from coming out on the other side and materialising within a planet’s core? What is to stop us from spending centuries journeying through the immaterium only to find that there is no Imperium left for us to defend when we reach our destination? What is to stop the daemons that scratch upon the hull of this vessel from tearing it apart and consuming us all?’

  ‘My entire life has been dedicated to harnessing the warp and bending it to my will, as has the life of every brother who wears the blue of the Librarius and every Navigator and astropath who serves our Chapter. The warp is another weapon we can wield against our enemies, sergeant. Surely you can appreciate that?’

  ‘But like all weapons it can misfire, or have you chosen to forget what happened to Codicier Gloriel?’

  ‘What happened to Gloriel was… unfortunate.’

  The last time Ezekiel had served alongside the Fifth Company he had been accompanied by a newly-elevated
Librarian. The mission had been routine until Gloriel used his psychic abilities to erect a shield to protect the squad he was attached to and inadvertently brought forth an entity from the immaterium. Both the Fifth Company and the tau they were engaged with were able to vanquish the daemon, but not before it had accounted for Gloriel and most of Seventh Squad.

  ‘Agreed, but what guarantee do you have that it will not happen again?’ Balthasar asked.

  ‘What guarantee do you have that the next time you draw your bolter, no matter how well it has been blessed and anointed by the Techmarines, it won’t blow up in your face?’ Ezekiel countered. ‘All weapons can misfire, you said that yourself.’

  ‘But if my bolter malfunctions, chances are it will only take me out. If you or Turmiel or even Grand Master Danatheum should “misfire” then the potential losses are even greater, perhaps even an entire company.’

  Ezekiel let out a long breath. ‘Thank you for being so frank with me, brother. You and I shall talk more during the course of this mission.’

  Balthasar looked confused. ‘I don’t understand. Is that why you came here? Just to talk?’

  ‘This is a training chamber, brother. I came here only to learn.’ Ezekiel gave the salute of the Lion, which Balthasar was slow to return.

  The Librarian headed for the chamber door but stopped and turned back after only a few strides. ‘But before I go, allow me to impart some wisdom of my own. Our orders have changed and we make for a new warzone. Perhaps you might want to ask Master Serpicus to alter the servitors’ protocols to mimic orks before you start drilling your squad again.’

  Chapter Four

  Ladbon Antilov sat in the cold, grey, featureless corridor waiting to be summoned to speak with the governor. Beside him stood two members of the local defence force, newly tithed to the Astra Militarum in the wake of Honoria’s rediscovery, their lasrifles slung at their hip, fingers ready at the firing stud should the captain try to resist or escape. Ladbon was still none the wiser as to why he had been summoned to meet with the newly installed governor but was wise enough to know not to take on two armed men without a weapon of his own, his shotgun now in Allix’s care.

  Ladbon stretched his arms out in front of him, locking his fingers together and cracking them. The two guards tightened their grips on their rifles and narrowed their eyes, so Ladbon pulled his hands apart and raised them, indicating that he wasn’t about to try anything. One of them said something to the other in the local Honorian dialect and nodded at Ladbon to lower his hands.

  This was not the first time that Ladbon had been made to wait by a figure of authority. Back home he had spent long hours sat outside administrators’ offices, waiting to collect work dockets and pay chits, or for clerks to finish their shifts so he and his brother could lay rat traps or remove a lungspider nest. But his current surroundings were very different from those of the upper echelons of Vostroya. There, every available surface would have been covered with an image of the Emperor or an Imperial saint, every square and intersection decorated with statuary of heroes of the Imperium, every picture frame filled with a portrait of some great Vostroyan soldier who had died so that humanity might live. It was almost as if the entire planet were overcompensating for its past failures.

  Honoria, by contrast, was a blank slate. Though it had stayed loyal throughout its exile, without the Ecclesiarchy’s guiding hand its devotion to the Emperor manifested itself in a different way to the rest of the Imperium. Whereas most faithful worlds would build monuments to the Golden Throne, great cathedrals that could house millions of pilgrims and entire cities devoted to worship, Honoria instead honoured the God-Emperor by building the tools of war.

  Each city on Honoria was surrounded by a vast network of man-made channels and gullies, mazes too narrow for engines of war to enter, designed solely to place any attacker at the mercy of the anti-personnel guns positioned in turrets high above. At the end of these rat runs, vast gates were built to protect the workers within, with enormous guns placed atop them to shoot down any sky-borne aggressors. Battlements and ramparts ran the length of the city walls, providing room enough for the half of the population who were not employed to build defences and weapons to make use of the defences and weapons.

  Though the construction of Honoria’s fortifications had taken no little skill, its architects had chosen not to house the giant artillery pieces in baroque towers, or to line the walls with effigies of primarchs or long-dead saints; everything on Honoria merely looked functional. Even the lasrifles poised to bring Ladbon down were plain and boxy, uglier even than the standard-issue weapons carried by most Guardsmen.

  The door to the governor’s office, nothing more than a steel plate with a handle and hinges, swung open and a severe-looking woman in Administratum robes stepped out.

  ‘He will see you now,’ she snapped, holding the door open.

  One of the guards motioned with his rifle, and Ladbon got up from the stone bench he had been seated on and entered the office, nodding respectfully at the Administratum clerk out of habit as he did so.

  She closed the door behind him, leaving Ladbon alone with the governor.

  The office was as austere as the corridor that led to it, with the exception of a finely carved Imperial aquila hanging on a grey wall above a simple desk, chairs placed either side of it. A heavy-set man in fine robes, obviously of off-world design, stood looking out of a small window, his back to Ladbon.

  ‘You are Captain Ladbon Antilov of the Vostroyan Firstborn, yes?’ he said, turning around. His face was a tapestry of scar tissue, his left eye milky and blind. Everything about the man called him out as an Astra Militarum veteran.

  ‘Yes, lord governor,’ Ladbon answered, respectfully.

  ‘Funny, I thought you’d be more handsome,’ the governor said, staring intently at the Vostroyan’s augmetic eye.

  ‘Erm, why am I here exactly?’ Under the circumstances Ladbon fought down the urge to reply with, ‘I could say the same about you.’

  ‘How did you get that – the eye, I mean?’ the governor said, ignoring Ladbon’s question.

  ‘It was a hunting accident. I lost an eye, my brother his life.’

  ‘Hunting, eh? A noble art. Is it in your blood?’

  ‘You could say I come from a long line of hunters,’ Ladbon replied, being economical with the truth.

  The governor picked up a folder from the desk and flicked through the reams of paper within, nodding as though impressed as he did so. ‘I’ve been reviewing the action reports you’ve filed since you came planetside. Your squad has almost twenty confirmed ork kills and, with the exception of a few flesh wounds here and there, you’ve not taken a single casualty in all that time. Why is that, captain?’

  Ladbon could feel his body temperature rise, sweat beginning to dampen his tunic at the small of his back. He took a breath then answered, ‘Because we’re damn good at what we do.’

  ‘Ha!’ the governor exclaimed, his scarred face contorting grotesquely as he laughed. ‘There’s no false modesty with you, is there, captain? I like that. You’re almost worthy.’

  ‘Worthy? Worthy of what?’

  ‘I was like you once, you know,’ the governor said, once again ignoring Ladbon. He moved out from behind the desk and began circling around the Vostroyan. ‘I made captain when I was young too. The Fourteenth Ynglevian Lancers. Nothing compared to the illustrious Vostroyan Firstborn, of course, but by the God-Emperor did we punch above our weight. Ten thousand men from a backwater planet who went out into the stars and reclaimed nearly a dozen worlds that had succumbed to heresy. We thought we were invincible – a decade of war and we had lost barely ten per cent of the men and boys who had shipped out from Ynglevia.’

  ‘Is that how you got those?’ Ladbon said, pointing to the row of medals at the governor’s breast.

  ‘We hadn’t done it alone. Other regiments had rallied behind
the banner and an entire company of Raven Guard had been our spearhead, smashing open the enemy’s defences on each and every world so that we could sweep in behind and wipe out the heretics. We didn’t realise it at the time but we were only playing at war. The cultists we were fighting were just men, the same as us. But what came after…’

  The governor was back at the window, staring out at the vast expanse of grey and white.

  ‘It was during the victory celebrations that they first made planetfall, spores at first but then came the swarms of rippers and the larger bioforms. We didn’t stand a chance. Half of us were drunker than we’d ever been in our lives and the speed of the assault caught us completely off guard. Tell me, son, have you ever fought against the tyranids?’

  ‘I don’t even know what tyranids are,’ Ladbon replied.

  The governor exhaled. ‘Good for you, son. I’ll spare you the horror. Suffice to say that the Fourteenth were wiped out almost to a man that day. Within a week, the subsector we had devoted ten years of our lives to liberating no longer existed, a hundred billion souls wiped out in less time than it took to travel from one side of it to the other.’

  ‘But you escaped, lord. You were invincible.’

  ‘The Raven Guard did their best, but there were so few of them and so many tyranids, so very many tyranids. They knew from the instant the first spore hit the surface that the planet was doomed and sought only to stem the Imperium’s losses. They held a corridor open to the space port, holding off the tyranids so that Guardsmen could make it back to the waiting transport shuttles, but so few did. I was one of the last to make it there, the Raven Guard captain holding the final shuttle back as I ran across the landing zone, chased every metre of the way by the swarms. I made it, barely, but as I sprinted up the closing ramp, the lead ripper launched itself at the Space Marine, latching on to his throat and pulling him to the ground ready for the rest of the swarm to devour.

  ‘In the panic to flee the dying planet I hadn’t even stopped to pick up my lasrifle, but I still had my combat knife. Without thinking, I drew it and leapt from the shuttle, impaling the ripper on my blade. It burst open, showering me with acid, and damn near killed me. I would have died there and then but the Raven Guard captain dragged me back on the transport, got me to the medicae on board an orbiting Navy ship.’