by Ben Counter
Some way down, the tunnel opened up into a huge underground chamber. It was so wide that the far wall was like a horizon, the roof like a sky of stone. Large, elaborate structures filled the chamber like the buildings of a wealthy, sombre city of marble and granite.
'Our dead were not always buried side by side as brothers,' said Durendin, his voice low in the silence. 'Few realise it, but the Chapter does change. These levels survive from a time when the Grey Knights were buried like heroes in these cities of the dead.'
'How long ago?' said Genhain, almost unwilling to speak. Like every Grey Knight he had fought truly terrible things and witnessed sights that would drive lesser men mad, but still the oppressive, silent necropolis struck him with awe.
'The last was just over nine hundred years ago.' replied Durendin. 'Follow, justicar.'
Durendin walked out beneath the stone sky, down a broad avenue tiled with gleaming granite. Tombs rose on either side, many several storeys high, each different. Carved relieves of battles adorned some, others bore monumental carved symbols - the stylised 'I' of the Inquisition alongside the sword-and-book symbol of the Grey Knights. Genhain saw a painted mural, the colours faded, of a Grey Knight in archaic Terminator armour fending off a tremendous horde of pestilent, tentacled daemons. Another tomb was topped by a massive marble Thunderhawk gunship, poised as if to ascend at any moment carrying the soul of the Marine buried beneath it.
Durendin turned a corner and Genhain saw, at the far end of the avenue, a building shaped like an amphitheatre. Arches in the circular walls looked in onto an area where hundreds of stone figures sat silently watching the raised obsidian block in the centre.
Durendin entered the amphitheatre. It was huge, the size of one of the grand gladiatorial arenas that could be found in the Imperium's more brutal hive cities. The watching figures were hooded and cowled, and wore the symbols of the various Imperial organisations - the Inquisition, Adeptus Mechanicus, Ecclesiarchy, Administratum, even the Adeptus Terra. The symbolism was powerful – every man and woman of the Imperium, whether they knew it or not, owed an impossible debt to the Grey Knights.
'You see why we bury our dead as brothers now.' said Durendin. 'Not kings.'
Genhain was momentarily lost for words. Saying such things had seen more than one novice chastised for impiety.
'The Grey Knights have made their own mistakes, justicar.' said Durendin. 'Alaric trusted you enough to send here, so I trust you to understand. Whole Chapters of Marines have fallen to pride before. No Grey Knight has ever fallen from grace, partly because the chaplains have seen such sins as pride and tried to guide our brothers away from them. That is why we no longer bury our dead here.'
Durendin carried on down the steep steps, into the shadow of the obsidian tomb. Words in High Gothic were inscribed into the glossy black stone - names of worlds and crusades where the entombed Marine had fought, allusions to daemonic enemies he had vanquished, the honours bestowed on him by the lord inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus.
The last battle honour listed was Khorion IX.
Durendin spoke a whispered prayer. He passed a hand over a panel set into the sarcophagus and slowly, with a deep grinding noise from within, the obsidian lid slid open. The stone around the sarcophagus rose up to form marble steps leading up, and as the steps formed Durendin walked up them to stand over the head end of the sarcophagus. There was a strong smell of spices and chemicals, the resins and incense with which Grey Knight bodies were once prepared before burial.
Genhain followed Durendin up the steps. When he got to a level where he could see into the sarcophagus, he bowed his head with almost instinctive reverence.
Grand Master Mandulis had been buried without his armour, for he had died in a time when all precious suits of Terminator armour were passed on to Grey Knights who had just been granted Terminator honours. His shroud was old and yellowed and it clung tightly to the skeleton beneath, so the bones and the features of the skull were clearly visible. Genhain could see the surgical scars around the eye sockets and on the cranium, the breastplate of fused ribs, the holes where lifesign probes and nerve-fibre contacts had once connected to the body. Mandulis's warding, the anti-daemonic patterns woven into his armour, had burned so brightly in his final moments that they were still traced onto his bones in intricate spiralling paths.
Mandulis's skeletal hands were folded across his chest, and in them he still held his Nemesis sword. The lightning bolt design, wrought in gold, started at the crossbar and ran halfway up the blade. The gold and silver still glinted. The blade was so bright it reflected the distant stone sky, brighter and clearer, as if the weapon was so holy its very reflection was pure.
The more Genhain looked down at the grand master's body the more he could see what terrible damage had been wrought on it. Something corrosive had eaten away at the inside of the rib-plate, spilling over the clavicle to leave a scabrous honeycombed scar on the bones. Hairline cracks covered the limbs where they had been broken and then re-set by the apothecaries tending the body. The back of the skull was a web of fractures. Mandulis had died in the death throes of Ghargatuloth, and the daemon prince's malice was so great that he had shattered the body of a Grey Knight as if it were nothing.
'Were this anyone else.' said Durendin, 'Alaric's request would have been refused, brother-captain or not. But Mandulis died to banish Ghargatuloth. None of us could deny that he would make any sacrifice to help us do it again.'
Durendin reached down and unfolded Mandulis's fingers from around the hilt of the Nemesis sword, careful not to damage the old bones. He lifted the weapon, and handed it to Genhain. The blade was still as sharp as the day Mandulis had last drawn it.
It felt heavy in Genhain's hands. It had been made in an era when Nemesis weapons were handled differently - the blade was heavy, for chopping through armour and bone, while the Nemesis swords used by Genhain's battle-brothers were lighter and thinner for slashing and stabbing.
'It has been four hundred years since a tomb in the city of the dead was opened.' said Durendin. 'The Chapter wishes it could render Alaric more support, with Ligeia now gone. But Alaric knows as well as any of us that the Chapter is stretched woefully thin at the best of times, and with the Eye opening no Grey Knight can be spared. We know now that the threat of Ghargatuloth has been proven to be real, and we hope that the sword of Mandulis will help Alaric when his brothers at the Eye cannot. I wish I could impress this upon Alaric himself, but I trust you will convey my words.'
Genhain knew that Durendin could have spoken to Alaric himself, through astropathic relay. The fact that Durendin would not told Genhain that Durendin was not going to be on Titan for very much longer.
'Emperor be with you in the Eye, chaplain.' said Genhain.
'May his light guide you on the Trail, justicar.' replied Durendin.
They walked down from the sarcophagus, which ground closed again over the body of Mandulis. Silently, the two Grey Knights began the long walk back towards the surface of Titan.
THERE WERE NO chances taken with Ligeia.
As soon as the Rubicon had arrived at Iapetus, Ligeia had been sedated and kept in a stupor until the interrogator command on Mimas had locked her up in the most secure holding cells they had. Normally reserved for prisoners in the throes of full-blown daemonic possession, Ligeia's cell floated in close orbit above the dark side of Mimas, anchored to the surface by a long metal cable. The only way to get to the grim, pitted metallic cube was to take a servitor-transporter that crawled like some parasitic insect up the cable to dock with the underside of the cell. The cube contained the cell and an observation room, a supply of enough oxygen and heating fuel to keep the occupant alive (both of which could be switched off instantly), and a fully-furnished interrogation array that would allow for intensive questioning assisted by both physical and psychic pressure of anything up to the ninth degree of intensity. The cell had not been deemed a resource suitable for Valinov, since he had ne
ver shown any psychic ability. But considering the circumstances of his escape, the Conclave on Encaladus had insisted that Ligeia be kept in the most secure location Mimas had.
Inquisitor Nyxos knew Ligeia. For normal men, that would make him a poor choice to interrogate her. An inquisitor, however, accepted that those he knew the best could still fall from grace and become a danger to the Imperium. Nyxos had been called in to break friends before - there were still such colleagues, even fellow inquisitors, rotting in the depths of Mimas. The only tragedy worse than an Imperial servant fallen to the Enemy, was one who fell and was not brought to justice. Nyxos was the automatic choice to conduct Ligeia's interrogation.
The servitor-transporter only had room for two passengers. Nyxos could taste the fear and desperation left in this place, from all those inquisitors and interrogators who had made this journey to converse with daemons bound in human flesh. The portholes looked out across Mimas's barren, broken surface, and in the black sky above hung the huge multi-coloured orb of Saturn.
'Mimas command have given the word, inquisitor.' said Hawkespur beside him. Hawkespur was a brilliant young woman, headhunted for Nyxos's staff from the Collegia Tactica on St Jowen's Dock. Her face, normally youthful and flawless, was darkened by several livid bruises and she now walked with a cane. She had only narrowly avoided dying in the slaughter at Valinov's botched execution. Augmetic correction at Nyxos's expense would render her wounds invisible, but Hawkespur would be marked far more deeply by witnessing the cunning of the Enemy at first hand.
Nyxos had nearly died, too. Were it not for several redundant internal organs the death cultist's knife would have killed him in a moment. Nyxos banished the thought. There was no point in pondering how close you are to death, otherwise you live all your life in fear.
'Take us up.' said Nyxos. Hawkespur pressed the control stud and the transporter began to climb the cable, swaying as it went. Nyxos's servos whirred as they compensated for the movement. He had not been able to move under his own power for more than thirty years, not since he had been all but dismembered by cultists who had offered him up as a sacrifice to their gods. The experience had left his body broken, but his mind far sharper. He had seen what went on inside their heads. He had seen what the taint of Chaos did to a man, and glimpsed the sights they saw beyond the veil. Only an inquisitor had the strength of mind to understand such things and live.
The transporter reached the top of the cable and metallic grinding sounds indicated that it was docking with the cell.
'We're there.' Hawkespur voxed to Mimas interrogator command. There was a pause, and then the side of the passenger compartment slid open.
Through the door was a small monitoring room full of lifesign readouts and cogitator consoles, with a window looking out into the cell itself. The air was cold and heavily recycled - it tasted metallic and almost hurt to breathe. A single door led into the cell, so an interrogator could enter the cell and talk to the prisoner face to face.
The prisoner was Inquisitor Ligeia. She was curled up in one corner of the white-tiled cell, dressed in the plain bone-coloured coveralls that the Mimas interrogators issued to isolated prisoners. Her hair, which Nyxos remembered as always being elaborately fashionable, was long and straggly, clinging to her face in greying rats' tails. Nyxos had never seen her looking so old.
She was shaking. It was cold in the cell, and at Nyxos's request she hadn't been fed for some time. She was kept almost permanently sedated, but she was just aware enough of her situation to be uncomfortable.
Nyxos settled his augmented body into the observation chair. He could feel the wounds deep inside him, like dull knives still stabbing.
Ligeia's lifesigns were stable. Her heartbeat flickered on one of the cogitator screens. Other monitors showed blood sugar and temperature. She was cold, hungry and tired.
Good, thought Nyxos.
'Wake her up, Hawkespur.' said Nyxos coldly.
Hawkespur took an injector gun from a cabinet beside the door, then punched a code into the door lock and headed through into the cell. Nyxos watched as Hawkespur injected a dose of stimulants into Ligeia's throat. Ligeia spasmed, then gasped and rolled onto her back, eyes suddenly wide, mouth gaping.
'Get her up,' said Nyxos into the vox-receiver in front of him.
Hawkespur grabbed Ligeia by the scruff of the neck and hauled her into a sitting position against the back of the cell, using her cane for extra balance. Ligeia shook her head, then stopped shaking and looked around her, lucid again.
Hawkespur returned to the monitoring room, locking the door behind her.
'Ligeia.' said Nyxos carefully. 'Do you know where you are?'
The window was one-way. Ligeia would see only her own reflection looking back at her.
'No,' she said faintly.
'Good. The only facts relevant to you are that you will suffer if you do not answer our questions.'
'I'll... I'll suffer anyway...'
'Once you tell us what we need we can dispose of you and all this will end. Until then, we own you and will do with you as we see fit. You are an object now. You are a receptacle for knowledge that we will wring out of you. That process will be easier if you co-operate. You ceased to be a human being when you betrayed your species and your Emperor, the only way out for you is death. I can make it quick but those who come after me will not be so generous.'
Nyxos let her wait for a while. He wanted her to be the one who spoke next.
'It's Nyxos, isn't it?' she said at last. 'You knew me. They think you'll open me up quicker.'
Ligeia was sharp, always had been. That was one of the reasons the Malleus had headhunted her from the Ordo Hereticus. 'That's right. And we both know they made a mistake. I can't do to you the things they want me to, Ligeia, not to a fellow inquisitor. So this is your only chance.'
Ligeia put her hand over her eyes and shook. Silently, she was laughing. 'No, no, Nyxos. You're not my friend. I don't have any friends.'
'Your cultists were your friends. They died for you.'
'Do you know why they served me? I should have had them executed! They were heretics, they should have burned and they knew it. They just wanted to kill and so they killed for me.'
Nyxos paused. There was a chance that Ligeia was doing to him what Valinov did to her. If that was the case he had ordered Hawkespur to kill him at the first sign of deviance, an order he was certain she would be capable of carrying out.
'What did he tell you to do?' asked Nyxos bluntly.
Ligeia was shaking her head mournfully. 'No one told me to do anything, Nyxos. Don't you even understand that much yet? I saw what would happen. I saw what I had to do. There was no one controlling me, I didn't make any decisions to be influenced.'
'What did you see?'
'I saw that Ghargatuloth would rise and that Valinov would bring him forth. It wasn't bad, it wasn't good, it just was. Once I saw beyond the veil and forced myself to understand, it was all clear.' Ligeia looked up suddenly. Her red-rimmed eyes were fierce. Though she could only be staring at her own reflection, her gaze seemed to reach out and punch right through Nyxos's soul. 'Nothing you do, inquisitor, nothing anyone does, has the least bit to do with what you want. You do not control any action you take, you simply react to the changes around you. You are a puppet of the universe. The only thing that has any power in this galaxy or any other, the only thing worth seeking or worshipping or even giving a moment's thought, is that change that controls you.'
'The Lord of Change.' said Nyxos. 'Tzeentch.' Nyxos saw out of the corner of his eye as Hawkespur flinched at the name. The officer was so straight-laced the forbidden names still sounded wrong to her coming from the mouth of an Imperial servant
'Men give it a name.' said Ligeia, sadness in her voice. 'But it doesn't need one. Nothing any of us do will make a difference. Change had decreed that Ghargatuloth will rise and Valinov will make it happen. I was the only one who could free Valinov, and so I
did it. I didn't make a choice. The act was completed before I began it.'
Nyxos sat back in his chair, watching Ligeia's movements as she slumped against the wall and stared at the ceiling. That was how she had been broken, then. She had been convinced that all human actions were governed by fate instead of free will, and that nothing she did was of her own volition. She had been absolved of all responsibility for her actions and turned into a puppet of whatever had been talking to her. Possibly Ghargatuloth itself, maybe Valinov through some unknown means, maybe another intermediary no one had detected yet. In any case, the undermining of Ligeia's spirit had been complete. Nyxos had seen it before, and he knew how hard it would be to break her now.
'Where is Valinov, Ligeia? What is he planning? Is he still in contact with you?'
Ligeia said nothing.
'You will tell us. You know that. You know that we will break you eventually and you will answer all the questions I have just put to you. You might say that you have already broken down, it's just a matter of time. Isn't that how the universe works, Ligeia?'
'Her heart rate's going up, sir.' said Hawkespur.
Panic always accompanied doubt. Doubt was an inquisitor's weapon.
'It will happen, Ligeia.' continued Nyxos. 'We broke Valinov. Do you really think you will hold out when he could not?'
'We don't choose.' said Ligeia quietly, as if to herself. 'We only serve.'
'Where is Valinov? What will he do? How will we stop him? You have to tell us, but you do not have to suffer. You can see that, can't you? You know how all this will end.'
'We only serve!' said Ligeia again, loudly this time. 'We serve the Change and the Change is our fate! Hear its words! Kneel in the darkness and obey the light!'
'Heart rate rising. Anomalous brainwaves.' Hawkespur's face was lit sickly green by the monitor screens. 'Much more and we may have to revive her.'
'Fate has already broken you, Ligeia!' shouted Nyxos as Ligeia began to whimper pathetically. 'Fate wanted us to arrest you and bring you here. It wanted you tried and executed, and it wanted you to tell us everything you know. Otherwise, why are you here? Fate brought you to this cell so I could give you the chance to talk before the explicators started working on you. What else could fate want, if not for you to talk?'