by William King
‘Things are going to have to change,’ he said suddenly. ‘Too much corruption at the top. Too many people doing too well out of things. Not enough supplies for the fighters at the front.’
‘A lot of people seem to think that.’
‘Don’t you?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
As quickly as it had come on his mood changed. ‘What the hell? Why talk about the politics? Let’s talk about Belial and the old neighbourhoods.’
I ordered more drinks. They kept coming. It was good to meet someone from the old hive.
I staggered back into our chambers at the palace. Anton and Ivan had returned from their stint on guard duty. I slumped in my chair, nursing a drink. ‘You’ll never guess who I ran into?’ I said.
‘A brewer’s truck,’ said Anton, ‘judging from the look of you. Otherwise, I guess you ran into the nearest bar and then ran back out again when you had spent all your money.’
‘Sergei Krimov,’ I said.
‘Slick Sergei?’ Ivan said.
‘None other.’
‘You’re telling me the Seventh are here?’ said Anton.
‘Just got in, apparently.’
Anton folded himself into an armchair and poured himself a drink. ‘That’s news,’ he said. ‘I haven’t run into anybody from the old regiment since we signed up with the Lion Guard.’
‘They are part of Battlegroup Crassus now. Were assigned to it right after Kassari.’
‘See any other faces from the old days?’ Ivan asked.
‘Just Sergei. He was out wandering on his own, checking out the sights of Acheron.’
‘Checking out the bars and looking for a criminal connection, if I know him,’ said Anton.
‘He paid his way,’ I said.
‘Did you check your wallet afterwards?’ Anton asked.
‘What have you got against the guy?’
‘He was always a fly man,’ Anton said.
‘People change,’ I said.
‘And even if they don’t, why is it our problem?’ Ivan asked. ‘Leo was drinking with him, not going into business.’
‘Suit yourself, but listen to me. The guy would sell the fillings from your teeth and then come back for your gnashers.’
‘Part of Battlegroup Crassus, eh?’ said Ivan. ‘That’s the fourth regiment that follows him arrived then. He has more regiments here now than anybody else.’
‘They should be in the field, fighting heretics,’ said Anton.
‘I’ll be sure to mention that to Crassus the next time I run into him,’ I said, but I was doing the sums in my head. Four regiments, at least one of them heavy armour, made Crassus the most powerful man on the planet now. And given the proximity of Macharius and the crusade’s other leaders, that probably made him the most powerful man in the Imperium. I wondered how he was enjoying the feeling.
‘He’s got Baneblades and Shadowswords backing him then,’ said Ivan. I could tell he was making the same sort of calculations as I was. It was sad how quickly our thoughts had degenerated into forebodings of treachery. It says something for the atmosphere of the time and place as well, I suppose. I think all of us had suspicions about the outcome of this conclave.
‘Maybe we should hold a sweepstake on it,’ Anton said.
‘On what?’ I asked.
‘On who is going to stab Macharius in the back first.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ I said.
‘Won’t it?’ Anton asked. ‘How do you know?’
I had no answer for that. There was nothing I could really say. I did not even believe in my own words myself.
‘You really think we’re going to end up fighting against the Seventh?’ Ivan said.
‘If we agree with Anton, it’s possible.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Ivan said. His flat mechanical voice gave his words a certainty I was sure he was very far from feeling. It was hard to believe we were even talking about this, the possibility of having to defend ourselves against the men we had once fought alongside. Was this what the high ideals of the crusade had finally come to?
Maybe Macharius had made a mistake coming here with only his personal guard and the tattered remnants of the Grosslanders. Given the mauling they had taken on Loki it was possible that even they might not stand with us.
Cardinal Septimus strode into Macharius’s throne room, his servo-skulls orbiting around him. I stepped forward to bar his way. He looked at me the way a man might look down on a particularly venomous insect. His guards stared at me, but there was not a lot they could do. I had a shotgun and they did not. They had all been thoroughly scanned before entry and their weapons had been removed. I had been instructed to perform another set of checks before they got close. Just to make a point.
Once I had completed the search the cardinal was allowed to approach Macharius’s throne bearing the great sealed documents, which he presented to the Lord High Commander. The parchment looked impressive enough and Macharius gave every sign of scrutinising them closely.
‘Are you satisfied with my credentials?’ the cardinal inquired. He studied the luxurious furnishings of the chamber with a connoisseur’s eye. I felt sure he was putting a value on every mobile statue, on every dragon-fur rug.
‘It never hurts to be careful,’ Macharius said.
‘Now that we have established my bona fides, perhaps we could discuss the business that brought me here.’
‘By all means,’ Macharius said. The cardinal turned and looked at me and the others. It was clear he was not expecting to have to speak in front of underlings.
‘You can say what you wish in front of Sergeant Lemuel and his men,’ Macharius said. ‘I trust them with my life.’
‘You are entrusting them with more than that if you allow them to overhear the secrets of the Imperium.’
‘These men swore the same oaths of loyalty to the Emperor that I did. They can be trusted to the same extent.’
The cardinal looked as if he wanted to argue, but it was clear that Macharius was not going to be moved on this point, and perhaps that was the point. ‘As you wish,’ he said.
‘Speak your piece,’ Macharius said.
‘You have done extraordinary things,’ said the cardinal. His voice had changed a little. He was now an orator speaking to a crowd, even if that crowd was just the Lord High Commander and the guards present. Macharius made a small ironic gesture with his right hand. ‘You have done a greater service to the Imperium than any man in a score of generations, ten score generations. The time has come for the Imperium to show its appreciation.’
Macharius was smiling now. The smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And what form does this appreciation take?’
‘You are to be presented with honours suitable to the scale of your triumphs.’
‘You have brought these with you, I presume.’
‘How could I possibly do so? You are to be granted a triumph on Holy Terra itself. You and select regiments are to present yourself there and be acclaimed by the elite of the Imperium.’
‘I see,’ said Macharius. Of course he did. Even I could see it. He was being removed from command of the crusade. Once separated from his armies it was doubtful he would be allowed to return. ‘Of course, the commanders who are present on this world will come with me. I could hardly neglect them, or fail to share the glory with them, since they are as responsible for victory as much as I.’
Cardinal Septimus paused for a moment as if this were not quite what he expected to hear. ‘They will be honoured in their time. You are the one to whom all the glory has accrued. You are the one whose sole triumph must be celebrated.’
Macharius tilted his head to one side. I would not have liked to have been the man he studied in such a way. It reminded me too much of a great predator studying a herbivore. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. I shall have the ship prepared for departure. We must set out immediately.’
‘Of course,’ said Macharius. Septimus looked surprised,
like a warrior who had come expecting a desperate struggle and achieved an easy victory.
‘There are just a few details that must be taken care of before I depart to ensure a smooth transfer of command,’ Macharius added.
‘Naturally,’ Septimus agreed. Having won the basic point, he was not going to quibble over details, but I could see his eyes narrowing for a moment, as if he suspected Macharius of planning something devious. Pleasantries were exchanged and a few minutes later the cardinal withdrew with every appearance of civility.
‘So you have agreed to return to Terra,’ Drake said. They were in Macharius’s chambers now, surrounded by his honours, seated at his table, staring at each other across the regicide board.
‘What else was I supposed to do?’ Macharius replied. ‘I cannot turn down a direct command from the Imperium.’
‘Can’t you?’
Macharius stared at the inquisitor. ‘I trust you are not implying anything.’
It was clear that even Drake could overstep the mark. ‘It has been my life’s work to end the Great Schism,’ said Macharius. ‘I would not wish to undo it all at this late stage.’
Drake nodded. ‘I would expect no less.’
‘Of course, it is always possible that the cardinal’s ship might be delayed by some unforeseen problems.’
Drake smiled a cold smile. ‘He could always requisition others.’
‘That will take time and those too might have problems.’
‘They might.’
‘And my departure may be delayed by other unforeseen circumstances.’
‘That also is possible.’
‘Do not misunderstand me, my friend,’ said Macharius. ‘I will visit Holy Terra. I will submit myself to the will of the Ecclesiarchy, but I will do so in my own good time, when my work here is done.’
Drake nodded. ‘As you say,’ he said.
‘Now, I want all of the information you have gathered about Loki and Richter.’
A frown passed across the inquisitor’s face. He clearly did not appreciate this development, nor Macharius’s mania on the subject, but he produced a folder containing a number of documents. ‘These have arrived from the agents we left in place.’
I tried to imagine what it would be like to be left behind among heretics on a world like Loki, amid the walking dead. I tried to imagine how messages could be smuggled in and out of the system. I couldn’t, but clearly Drake not only could but had.
The news was not good.
It was not long before another blow to Macharius’s prestige descended. I stood guard in his throne room, idly surveying the great murals of Macharius’s triumph on Malachite and noting that I was shown standing guard at his shoulder, when the doors were suddenly thrown open and a giant strode in, a barbaric figure encased in ceramite armour.
‘Greetings, General Macharius,’ he said, in a great booming voice. Macharius rose and bowed in the most formal manner then strode across the chequered mosaic of the floor to slap the giant on the back. The sound echoed across the chamber like a gunshot.
‘Greetings, Logan Grimnar. It has been too long.’ It has been a number of years since we had fought alongside the Space Wolf on Demetrius. I frowned at the memories that the sight of him brought back. I had unpleasant recollections of that particular world and the things we had found there.
‘Indeed,’ said Grimnar. ‘But it does my heart good to see you.’
‘You did not come here just to exchange pleasantries, though,’ said Macharius.
‘No. The Great Wolf would have words with you.’ There was something about the way Grimnar spoke, an odd undertone, that made me look at him twice. If I had not known better I would have said it was resentment. Of course, the Emperor’s Chosen are above such things.
Macharius heard it too. Just for a moment a frown passed across his face. ‘And he sent you as his personal messenger.’
‘He does us both honour,’ said Grimnar.
‘A feast will be prepared,’ said Macharius. He clearly remembered his last such encounter with the Wolves of Space. ‘We shall meet as soon as he wishes.’
‘This evening then,’ said Grimnar. ‘I will bear your words to him.’
And with that he turned on his heel and left. In anyone else it would have been a sign of profound disrespect, but Grimnar and his ilk were above the petty protocols of politeness that bound the rest of us. They were laws unto themselves and had been since before the foundation of the Imperium.
Macharius’s gaze followed him gloomily. Clearly he suspected that whatever had caused the Great Wolf to demand an audience could not be good.
Sixteen
It takes a lot of work to prepare a feast for a company of Space Wolves. The tables groaned under the weight of sides of beef, of whole sheep roasted on spits, of Lacedomean calix basted in their own blood and stuffed with steaks. Whole chickens sat on plates. Broached barrels of ale and tankards full of strong, fiery spirits sat beside every plate.
I looked out at the crowd of awed humans and mortal gods and I pledged I would not make the same mistake as last time. At the high table Ulrik Grimfang and his retinue sat with Macharius and all his generals. Cardinal Septimus was present too, smiling his too-satisfied smile, the servo-skulls still orbiting and seeming to take in everything with their dead, empty eyes. Across the chamber I saw Grimfang looking at me. His nostrils flared and he smiled, revealing massive fangs. He beckoned to me with one gauntleted hand and I could do little else but approach.
‘You do not seem to be drinking so fiercely this time as you once did,’ he said. It could have been taken as an insult by a man more suicidal than myself, but he was smiling in a way that was clearly meant to be friendly. It was hard to take the words in the spirit they were intended. Being smiled at by a Space Wolf is like being smiled at by a sabre-tooth.
‘I am older now and perhaps wiser,’ I said. He laughed. There was wild mirth in the sound that echoed through the room. It was a contagious sound, although from anyone else it would have sounded crazed. ‘I find my stomach cannot take strong drink as well as it once did.’
‘You did not dishonour yourself the last time,’ he said.
‘I thank you,’ I said. There seemed little else to say.
‘Logan Grimnar speaks well of you,’ the Great Wolf said. ‘You would do me honour by serving as my cupbearer.’
I looked over at Macharius. Much as I disliked the idea of refusing the Great Wolf anything, Macharius was my commander and it was him that I obeyed. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
I stood beside the Great Wolf and poured his drinks. It was a sign of favour, not a form of being demeaned, and I recognised it for what it was. Thus I came to be standing by the high table during the last exchange between Macharius and the Great Wolf.
‘We have come to bid you farewell, General Macharius,’ said Grimfang.
‘Farewell?’ Macharius frowned slightly. He was clearly calculating all the possible consequences of this declaration.
‘We depart for the Gothic Sector. There is an orkish invasion there and we must fight.’
‘There is fighting to be done here yet and glory to be gained,’ said Macharius. He raised a glass and toasted the Great Wolf. Grimfang responded in kind, then said, ‘It is as you say, but we have a duty to the Imperium and its defenceless people. Succour has been requested and we must grant it.’
I tried to imagine all that must be going through Macharius’s mind at that point. He had just been told that his crusade was of less importance than this new invasion. The fact that this might well have been the truth in no way diminished the scale of the blow. The support of many Chapters of Space Marines, most importantly the personal support of the Space Wolves, had lent him great prestige, had made it seem to many that his campaign had enjoyed support at the highest spiritual and martial level. Its abandonment could not help but undermine that impression. It made a statement that more important things were happening elsewhere, that the crusade was not the focal event in th
e galaxy.
If these thoughts ran through Macharius’s mind, and I am sure that they must have, he gave no sign of it and he knew better than to protest to Grimfang or attempt to change his mind. Not even Macharius’s powers of persuasion or his great charisma were up to that.
The drinking continued, songs were sung, tales of the great battles were retold, but a cloud had descended on the feast and did not lift for the entire evening.
The last song was sung, the last ale was drunk. With many protestations of friendship the Great Wolf and his retinue rose to make their departure, seemingly none the worse for wear from the vast amounts of ale and beef they had consumed.
The same could not be said for the mere mortals present. All of them, even Macharius, were showing signs of having consumed too much, to the extent that many of them seemed to have their thoughts written on their faces. Sober as I was, I took the opportunity to study them, knowing it would be a rare occasion indeed.
Macharius was all controlled charm. His words were not even slightly slurred and his movements had all their usual grace, but there was a narrowness around his eyes, and a grim twist at the corners of his lips that spoke of his anger to those who knew him well.
Drake’s face was a mask. His eyes were pits into which you could stare and lose yourself. He seemed unusually thoughtful, as if he were measuring and weighing the events of the evening in his mind, turning things over from every angle, looking for some fault or advantage.
Cardinal Septimus’s face was masked by a bland smile. Since his conversation with Macharius, he had been amiability himself, and he was quite as capable of interpreting the Space Wolves withdrawal of support as I was; more so. It all played towards his purposes. Indeed, at that moment, I asked myself whether the departure of the Space Wolves, the request for their aid, might not have had something to do with him. It certainly removed one of the great props of Macharius’s power and prestige. Who would have dared oppose him openly when it was quite clear he enjoyed the support of the Emperor’s Angels?
Things had just become a lot murkier.