A few seconds later, the howl ended. Brauner opened his eyes. The vortex had passed, leaving residual lightning in its wake. The surviving orks in the vicinity were stunned. The relentless beat of the war paused.
Gared strode through the corridor, past the huddled mortals and out of the mausoleum.
Orbiana followed. ‘Did you find what you sought?’ Brauner heard her say.
‘Yes. We must leave immediately.’
‘Good.’
‘And destroy this site.’
Brauner didn’t hear what Orbiana replied. The orks had recovered. They advanced on Gared, shouting murder at him. He was motionless. A nimbus of energy crackled around him. Brauner had time to fear what awful wonder the Librarian was about to perform now when he received his answer. There was a flash of something that might once have been light, or might yet be. When it faded, it revealed the rest of the Grey Knights. They had materialised just in front of Gared.
Brauner’s jaw sagged. He blinked, awed by the feat of teleportation he had witnessed. Then he rose, and ran back out to the war. The mausoleum no longer needed to be defended. Time to meet his end and go down fighting.
Stumar was beside him. As they crossed the threshold, Brauner felt a pang of regret. It was fleeting, because it was an impermissible luxury. It was also sharp as a stiletto. It was the thought of things unsaid, that should have been, and now could never be. He glanced in her direction, but she had already veered to the left and was limping towards the enemy, her good arm and its blade before her.
She disappeared in the resurging tide of the war. He saw her one more time, bloodied but still fighting, drawing the sword back to stab an armoured greenskin twice her size. He didn’t see what happened. His vision was reduced to the immediate need to shoot and stab. The reflexes that had kept him alive this long still served him. The orks were stronger than he was. Many of them were faster. He was more precise. He knew how to move and when.
He just couldn’t move as well as he once did. And there were so many. Too many. Even with the Adeptus Astartes here now, the orks were unstoppable. Glancing blows and flesh wounds took their toll. He could no longer see any sort of strategy. The battle became a shattered mosaic. He lived each moment as a jagged fragment of dodging, shooting, blocking and stabbing. He was surrounded by muscle and fury and the undiluted war joy of the orks. He fought, he injured, he killed, and orks fell, but his friends died, and died, and died. He was drenched in so much blood that he didn’t know what was his own, or came from his comrades, or his foes. Soon, he knew nothing at all. There was only the struggle, and the pain of the struggle, and surely he would die soon. Surely this would end soon.
Less than five minutes had passed since Gared had emerged from the heart of the mausoleum.
Huge roaring above his head, even louder than the endless howling of the orks. A great, rhythmic hammering of heavy bolters. Explosions. The roaring louder yet. And suddenly the orks near him pulled back. He swung his bayonet at the air. He stumbled forward, blinking. The urgency of combat had released him, and he was confused.
His mind cleared enough for him to focus on objects more than a metre in front of his face. He understood what was happening. The Stormraven had reached their position. It had assisted the Grey Knights in blasting a landing area clear of the enemy. The orks had fallen back to prepare another charge. Brauner heard the rumbles of other engines close by, and he saw the greenskin tanks and walkers pushing their way up the hill, running over infantry and blasting through vaults and stones. The gunship came down fast, the backwash of its engines almost knocking Brauner over. Its nose loading ramp slammed down. The ground vibrated beneath Brauner’s feet.
The Grey Knights held the orks at bay for a few more seconds. Orbiana entered the gunship first. No acolytes followed her. They were all gone now. And as the Space Marines boarded the Stormraven, Brauner realised that he saw no other human survivors.
It was suddenly very difficult to hold on to the glory of the battle. To be the last was a cold honour. He felt alone in a way that he had never experienced, and never imagined. He searched the flame-lit night, but saw nothing but the encroaching green tide. It would no longer be denied. The heavy armour was nearly there. A shell exploded against the other side of the Harrower.
The despair he had escaped until now sank its claws into his heart.
The realization of his situation, the search, and the shadow falling across his soul took only a few seconds to come to pass. And then Gared stood before him. The Librarian paused. He looked down at Brauner. His moment of contemplation seemed to last an age. Brauner looked up, meeting his gaze directly. He was amazed to see what looked like pity in Gared’s eyes.
‘Go aboard,’ said the Grey Knight.
Stunned, he did. And when he was strapped into a web harness designed for a being much larger than himself, and the gunship was aloft, he stared through the viewing block, searching for what he knew he would not find. The ground below flashed with the fire of the ork guns. It strobed with the blasts of the cannons, bolters and mindstrike missiles with which the Harrower destroyed the mausoleum and whatever it was that Gared had found. The devastation dazzled Brauner’s eyes. He could not even make out the ork foot soldiers beyond the boiling of a undifferentiated mass.
If there were any human survivors still fighting, he would never see them. He knew that there were none, and that was a mercy.
And yet…
He recoiled from the thought of Stumar’s death. He held tight to his last sight of her: sword raised to strike, fighting as if the orks were the ones doomed to defeat. He had to believe in this image. He had to preserve this memory. It was the only way he could make her live.
It was the only thing he had left.
CHAPTER SIX
THE GREAT WORK
‘Brother-justicar,’ Warheit voxed from the cockpit of the Harrower, ‘the damage to the Tyndaris is severe.’
Styer looked through the viewing block. The strike cruiser’s shape stood out against the aurora of still-dissipating energy of a massive explosion. The ship was dark. The Scouring Light was approaching as well, and it was a brilliant torch in contrast. ‘Are you in contact with Shipmaster Saalfrank?’ Styer asked Warheit.
‘Sporadically. The bridge is intact. Large areas of the ship have lost atmosphere and power. Casualty numbers are high.’
‘Do you have any good news?’
‘Most of the weapons systems are still operational.’
‘Any other ork ships on the way?’ If another kroozer appeared, he would be faced with an unpalatable decision.
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Thank you, brother.’ Styer turned from the viewing block. Gared sat across the compartment from him. The Librarian’s face was grim. It had been since they had left Squire’s Rest. ‘Brother-Epistolary,’ Styer said, ‘do you believe the daemonic threat on Squire’s Rest has been neutralised?’ he asked.
‘I do. The damage we caused was more than enough to destroy the runes I saw.’
‘So Squire’s Rest is lost, but the Ruinous Powers are contained.’
Gared didn’t answer.
‘Your silence is disturbing,’ Styer said.
‘It comes from feeling disturbed.’
‘Then tell me, in your estimation, have we completed the mission? Has the prognostication been fulfilled?’ He did not lower his voice. He saw that the rest of the squad was listening to their exchange. That was how he wished it. It was right that they should know what informed his decisions.
‘I don’t know. The orks’ psychic energy is creating so much interference that I can only detect the workings of the Ruinous Powers in extreme proximity.’
Styer nodded. ‘It is telling that we didn’t notice anything in the mausoleum when the threat was right beneath our feet.’
‘I believe the truth is more complex than that.’
<
br /> ‘Your tone is ominous, brother,’ Borsam put in.
‘It should be,’ Gared answered. To Styer he said, ‘What I discovered was unformed. It assumed definition during the struggle.’
‘And what do you infer from this?’
Gared hesitated. ‘I believe…’ He frowned, reluctant to voice his conclusions, as if to do so was to give them the weight of truth. ‘I believe that my actions had the effect of bringing that threat to the surface.’
Styer understood the Librarian’s reluctance. If he was right, the implications were terrible. ‘How is that possible?’
‘Again, I am uncertain. My sense is that there was a probing or searching occurring. But it was blocked.’
‘By what?’
‘There was a ring.’
Styer listened to Gared’s description of the object. It did sound like a ward. ‘This relic was stymieing the search and a possible incursion?’
‘I think so.’
‘That would make sense, given that Mehnert’s loyalty appears to have been above reproach. But if there was a probe, there must have been a reason for the search.’
‘That is my conclusion as well.’
‘The question, then, is what was being sought.’
‘I have no answers for that.’ Gared looked straight ahead at Styer. His eyes did not flicker to his right.
Styer gave him a slight nod to show he understood. He did not look in Orbiana’s direction either. Despite the loss of her shuttle and all but one of her acolytes, she appeared to be satisfied with the results of her mission. She had found what she had come for. Her authority placed strict limits on what Styer could do to discover what she had taken from the tomb. He said, ‘It is imperative that such answers be found.’
‘Yes,’ said Gared, and Styer knew that he had understood. The Librarian had accepted the mission to discover what the Xanthite was planning.
Styer opened the vox channel to Warheit. ‘Make for the Scouring Light,’ he said.
Orbiana overheard and spoke up. ‘Is that quite necessary, justicar? Isn’t your mission in this system complete?’
‘I hope it is,’ he said. ‘But until I have a definitive answer, we must remain at these coordinates. I will not have my squad immobilised. We will be requesting your hospitality, inquisitor.’
‘My vessel is at your disposal.’ She spoke through gritted teeth.
The Harrower entered the launch bay of the Scouring Light. The roar of its landing was a declaration. It made a fiction out of Orbiana’s command of the ship.
Once they had disembarked, Styer took Gared aside. ‘The mortal,’ he said. ‘Why did you save him?’
‘It was an impulse,’ Gared admitted. ‘He fought well, in a battle that was of more use to us than to his doomed colony. And he survived. I thought that should count for something.’
‘Will it? If he lives with no memory of his comrades or their sacrifice, where is the value in that?’
Gared looked over to where Klas Brauner stood beside the Harrower’s starboard wing. Deprived of purpose and action, he looked lost. His face was grey with grief. ‘Perhaps the mind-wipe would be a mercy.’
‘You don’t believe that, brother.’
No, he didn’t. Mind-wiping was a necessary practice. Civilians could not be allowed to live with the knowledge of the Grey Knights’ existence. But the necessity was regrettable. Mind-wiping removed a portion of the individual. It was a mental amputation. Brauner would be diminished. ‘There is another option,’ he said. There was service to the Inquisition.
‘He is an old man,’ Styer said. ‘He had completed his duty to the Imperial Guard, retired, and then fought a last, desperate battle. I’m not sure you did him a kindness.’
‘Perhaps not. But he fought with great honour, and honour should be rewarded.’
Styer nodded once. ‘The decision isn’t pressing. It can wait until we leave the system.’
‘Which is not imminent.’
‘Not with so much unanswered. I have spoken with Inquisitor Furia. Meet with her. Uncover this ship’s secrets.’
Gared made the sign of the aquila and left. He found Furia in the lower level librarium. Styer was on the bridge. The rest of the squad worked with Orbiana’s crew to repair the damage the Stormraven had suffered. Orbiana had appeared on the bridge only long enough to re-establish her authority. Then she had vanished into the lower reaches of the vessel. The urgency of her obsession was telling.
Furia showed him the texts and their annotations.
‘Suggestive,’ he said.
‘But inconclusive. The sage I encountered, Andoval, seems to be the primary researcher. I would guess it is his hand we see on these pages.’
‘Then we should find him.’
‘There are many doors closed to us,’ she reminded him.
‘Even so, let us look at them.’
They walked the corridors of the ship. Orbiana had increased the guard since their return. Acolyte warriors stood outside entrances and at enough intersections that he and Furia were never out of their sight. They could not hope to stop him, if it came to that. They weren’t guarding, he decided. They were watching.
‘Many of these doors were open before your return,’ Furia said.
‘Oh?’
‘Some of them are simple storage or dormitoria. There is no reason to have them sealed.’ She pointed at some sigils that had been recently applied. ‘Those are a farce.’
‘Inquisitor Orbiana knows we’re searching. She is giving us an embarrassment of targets.’
Furia’s features remained impassive, but she made a dismissive gesture with her bionic hand. ‘That is a trivial strategy. What does she hope to gain?’
‘Time, perhaps?’
‘It won’t amount to much.’
‘She may be confident that she doesn’t need much.’
‘Then we have little.’
As they descended another level, Gared said, ‘You sound convinced that her agenda is a dangerous one.’
‘I am. Aren’t you?’
‘I am convinced we must look,’ he said. The uncertainty that Squire’s Rest had left him with was a torment. He could tell that Styer had grown even more doubtful about the value of the prognostication. If what he had encountered on Squire’s Rest was the extent of the threat, one that barely came into existence, then the near-destruction of the Tyndaris was too high price to have paid for this mission. Gared could not believe that the Grey Knights’ work here was done. But the way in which the threat had manifested itself was troubling in the extreme, and now he was feeling his way through the dark. Blindness was a novel experience. He did not like it.
He opened himself up to the psychic currents in the ship. The system-wide mayhem of the orks pressed inwards with greater fury. His impression of the immaterium was storm and interference, and he could not tell if it was the warp itself that was in upheaval, or if it was his senses that were at fault. Perhaps it was both, observer and observed distorted by the collective force of the orks. They were the embodiment of havoc, and their rampage stretched across all forms of existence.
As he and Furia passed the sealed doors, he tried to determine if there was any daemonic threat on the other side. He could tell nothing. The results were worse than inconclusive. They were meaningless.
‘There may be only one way of learning Inquisitor Orbiana’s project,’ he said.
Furia sighed. ‘I know.’
‘Are the consequences that would follow acceptable?’
‘What about the consequences of inaction?’
‘They could be worse,’ he agreed. ‘Unless we are wrong to mistrust her.’
‘She is a radical. Mistrust of that kind is necessary or we doom the Imperium.’
‘That sounds like you have made a decision.’
Furia hesitated.
‘We will look a bit longer. But forced entry is an option, if we should find a promising candidate.’
Gared nodded. He didn’t ask what she would find promising. He would know, too.
And he did. They found what they were looking for two decks down from the loading bays. At the fore end of a long corridor was a massive vault door. The hexagrammic wards were the most extensive and complex yet. Six acolyte warriors guarded it. Gared and Furia stopped at the other end of the passageway, fifty metres away.
‘We will see what is beyond that door,’ Furia said to Gared, though she was looking at the guards.
‘One moment,’ Gared said. If there was still a way of avoiding outright battle between Inquisition factions, he would take it. He focussed on the door. He opened himself more to the awareness of the immaterium. The physical world vanished from his perception. The ork presence was a wave of battering pressure. He did his best to ride the wave, to see it through, but it was unending and he could not see past it. The constriction around his skull grew into an agony.
But then there was something there beyond the force of the orks. It did not pound. It pierced. It was another tendril, like the one he had encountered in the Mehnert tomb, but much stronger, more precise. It had the coherence of sentience. It knew what it was looking for, and its quest had been successful. On the other side of that door was the object of the tendril’s quest. There was triumph in the warp, and it was diseased. As on Squire’s Rest, what was probing at the barrier to the materium was illness and rot, infection and decay. The coherence of the tendril was simply the means for a dissolution into the chaos of plague.
Coiling around the tendril was a helix of laughter. It was pointed. It was aware of Gared. It knew he saw it, and it was pleased.
Gared snapped back into the materium. He would not rejoice over what he had discovered. But there was satisfaction in knowing that his course of action was clear. He said to Furia, ‘There is no doubt.’
‘Is she still in there?’ Styer asked as he and the rest of the squad joined Gared and Furia.
‘Yes,’ said Furia. ‘No one has passed through the door since we arrived.’
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