by Gav Thorpe
The hoods of the Mechanicum priests swathed their faces in shadow, but the glassaic was not so thick that it barred their words from reaching the primarch. Their low voices set the window’s surface vibrating just enough for his keen ears to pick up every word, now that he was close.
‘This latest call for our resources cannot be ignored,’ one of the tech-priests said. A claw-handed cybernetic arm protruded from his left sleeve, gleaming in the furnace-light. ‘Vangellin made it clear that if we did not liquidate the Third District then he would remove us and see us condemned to servitude.’
‘Would he really turn the skitarii against his own?’ asked another. Corax identified the owner; a tall, barrel-chested individual with sapphire-like lenses shining in the shadow of his cowl.
‘More than skitarii... if the rumours from Iapetus... are to be believed,’ said a third. His breathing was laboured, the front of his robe open around a whirring, pumping machine set into his torso. Each time he spoke, pistons in the artificial lung clattered. ‘The words may come... from Vangellin, but we know... the command originates with... Archmagos Delvere. He has the support of... the Cognoscenti ... and so we must obey.’
‘Delvere speaks the words of another.’ This fourth voice was artificial; clipped and metallic. ‘The Word Bearer Nathrakin shares equal blame. He is not to be trusted.’
‘Trust is irrelevant,’ said the second tech-priest. ‘Force wins all arguments.’
‘The Cognoscenti have not decreed such,’ said the fifth member of the group. He was short, no more than a metre and a half tall, his back cruelly bent and the hunch further exaggerated by a sprawl of pipes curving from his spine to canisters around his waist. ‘The skitarii are loyal but they will not follow blindly to act against their masters.’
‘It is folly to contemplate armed resistance,’ said the first tech- priest. ‘What have we to lose by compliance? The Word Bearers bring assurances from Mars. Delvere follows the will of the Fabricator-General.’
‘Such assurances... can be easily... falsified. The Word Bearers seek… to defy the Omnissiah. Their creations are... abhorrent. We cannot support this in good... conscience.’
‘It is not like you, Firax, to be so dismissive of learning,’ said the first voice. ‘Lord Nathrakin has opened our research to areas we thought impossible. Are these new creations any more abhorrent than what we do for Geller fields and warp drives?’
‘Azor Nathrakin is a liar,’ said the metallic voice. ‘Pure knowledge resides not in the alternate but in the reality we inhabit. He has corrupted Archmagos Delvere’s thinking.’
‘I will not be part of this rebellion,’ said the first tech-priest, turning away.
‘Lacrymenthis... do not be hasty,’ Firax called out as the recalcitrant tech-priest headed towards the conveyor cage.
‘A rebellion against rebels,’ said the stunted one. ‘Surely a contradiction. A paradox.’
The primarch caught the look in the eyes of the dissident priest as he opened the doors of the cage. He saw conviction and defiance in that gaze and knew in an instant that he meant to betray his companions. He had seen that look in the eyes of other traitors.
He acted instantly, crashing through the window into the temple, showering broken glassaic and leading into the room. Before the tech-Priests reacted he was next to the departing adept. The primarch thrust out a hand, tempering his strength so that the blow merely knocked the semi-mechanical man to the ground rather than pulverising his body.
‘Make no alarm!’ Corax barked at the others, the authority in his voice quelling their instinct to shout out. He continued before the shock of his appearance wore off. ‘I am Corax of the Raven Guard, primarch of the Emperor. We seek a similar end to the Word Bearers’ presence here.’
The servitors continued their monotonous plodding as primarch and tech-priests stared at each other, motionless. In that moment Corax calculated his next attack should the Mechanicum priests oppose him; half a dozen strides and four strikes from his lightning claws would see them all headless in two seconds.
‘The liberator... of Kiavahr,’ wheezed Firax, holding up a gnarled hand in a gesture of peace. ‘On Constanix... no less.’
‘Is he dead?’ asked the priest with sapphire eyes, motioning towards Lacrymenthis’s supine form.
‘Not yet,’ Corax replied, straightening. ‘He knows more than he has told you.’
‘Inquiry,’ said the artificially-voiced tech-priest. ‘What brings the Lord of Deliverance to our planet?’
‘My entrance will bring remark from others,’ said Corax, ignoring the question as he glanced back at the shattered window and then to the conveyor. ‘Is this place safe?’
‘There are no... others,’ said the wheezing tech-priest. ‘Just the five here... and mindless servitors. I am Firax, Magos... Biologis of the Third... District. Our demesne has... fallen in favour of late and... our adepts departed.’
‘Loriark,’ said the tech-priest with the metal voice. ‘Cybernetica. Magos Senioris of this temple.’
‘I am the Magos Logistica, Salva Kanar,’ the hunchback told the primarch, pulling back his hood to reveal a misshapen, wart-marked face. He pointed at the fallen tech-priest. ‘That one is Lacrymenthis, our Cogitatoris Regular. I always thought him a lackey of Delvere, never liked him.’
Corax turned his attention to the sapphire-lensed adept, who appeared to be fixated on the unconscious tech-priest. The adept noticed the silence and looked up at Corax. Shutters blinked rapidly over his blue eyepieces in surprise.
‘Bassili, Primus Cogenitor of the Biologis,’ he said abruptly. He looked back at the downed tech-priest, shaking his head in astonishment, his voice an awed whisper. ‘Lacrymenthis was augmented well, yet you felled him as easily as an infant.’
‘I am a primarch,’ Corax answered simply. ‘He is just a man. Do you command any forces of note?’
‘Some skitarii commanders may still answer to me,’ said Loriark.
‘More may heed... the word of a... primarch,’ added Firax. ‘You are the essence... of the Omnissiah given form. Perhaps... even Delvere will... heed your words when our... protestations fall on uncaring... ears.’
‘If your Archmagos shares counsel with the Word Bearers, I have no words for him,’ said Corax, lifting up a lightning claw. ‘Only deeds.’
‘Then what need have you of our warriors, when the Legion of the Raven Guard await your command?’ asked Loriark.
The question surprised Corax, causing him a moment’s pause. He saw expectation in the faces of the tech-priests - those whose faces were capable of movement. Loriark’s was simply a steel mask, with a respirator grille and eye holes behind which blackened orbs regarded the primarch without emotion.
‘I have enough legionaries with me for the task,’ said Corax. ‘The remainder of my Legion prosecutes the war against Horus on other worlds.’
‘And how do you propose to bring Delvere to account?’ asked Loriark, his words implacable, and though the monotone irritated Corax the truth of the question vexed him more. ‘Your fleet will annihilate Iapetus from orbit?’
‘No,’ Corax replied vehemently. That he had no fleet was irrelevant. ‘I will not condemn thousands of innocents to death so swiftly. Our fight is with the Archmagos and the Word Bearers, not the people of Constanix. Such brutality is the weapon of our enemies - not the Raven Guard.’
‘You showed no such mercy to the men and women of Kiavahr,’ said the hunch-backed Kanar.
‘A necessary evil, to prevent even more casualties,’ Corax replied quietly, shaking his head. ‘The threat of greater destruction ended the war. I do not think that Delvere and this Word Bearer commander will be swayed by such measures.’
‘Perhaps you will fly to Iapetus tonight and storm the grand temple yourself?’ suggested Loriark. His artificial voice made it impossible to judge if he was being sarcastic.
‘I might consider the possibility,’ the primarch replied. ‘Perhaps it would be better to gain control of
Atlas first, all things being equal. With the power of a barge-city to command we can confront Delvere on a more even footing.’
Silence followed as the primarch and his potential allies regarded each other. Corax wondered if he could trust these men - half-men. From his experience with the Mechanicum who had come to Kiavahr, he knew that their motives and agenda were different from those of pure flesh and blood. As a group they seemed to be aligned against the Archmagos, but individually Corax had no measure of them or their trustworthiness.
Now that he had revealed himself, only two courses presented themselves: make alliance with the priests of this district, or kill them now. Niro Therman, one of Corax’s foster mothers on Lycaeus, had lectured the young primarch at length regarding the sanctity of life. Corax was loath to kill out of hand, but far more was at stake than the lives of five tech-priests.
Kanar seemed to have reached the same conclusion, his augmented brain thinking almost as quickly as the primarch’s.
‘We can only offer our assurances of common cause,’ said the magos, his face twisting into a puckered grimace. ‘Other than our lives there is no bond we can give you for our good conduct.’
‘We have nothing to lose,’ grated Loriark. ‘Lacrymenthis was correct in one regard: we obey the Archmagos or we will be deemed enemy and destroyed. We are not alone. The cities of Pallas and Crius have moved to the southern currents, away from Iapetus, and their Magokritarchs have withdrawn from the council of the Cognoscenti. We must presume the other cities are in accord with the Archmagos.’
‘How many other cities?’
‘Five, including the capital. For the moment, Delvere counts Atlas amongst his friends. Magokritarch Vangellin is of the Templum Aetherica, as is the Archmagos. Even now, Atlas travels the capital current towards Iapetus.’
Corax absorbed this information, comparing what he heard to what he knew of other Mechanicum societies. No two forge world authorities were ever quite the same, and the specific nature of Constanix’s independent cities had given rise to a confederate arrangement that could be exploited. The Archmagos clearly held the centre of power, but only by the accord of the Cognoscenti, who it seemed were the paramount authorities on each of the barge-cities. Unless the Word Bearers’ influence had extended far structure of the Mechanicum - unlikely, given that they a been present for only a short while and the tech-priests were traditionally conservative towards any outside interference - it would be possible to regain the world with the removal of Delvere and the Word Bearers.
‘Vangellin, your Magokritarch, do you think he could be persuaded to align against the Archmagos?’ Corax asked.
The tech-priests looked at each other, their expressions doubtful.
‘Given sufficient leverage... he may be turned against Delvere,’ wheezed Firax.
‘And the rest of the Cognoscenti, how united will they be in purpose?’ asked the primarch. ‘Would one be a natural successor to the Archmagos, loyal to our cause?’
‘Such matters are complicated,’ answered Loriark. ‘It is not for flesh to decide, but only to divine the will of the Machine-God.’
Of course it is, thought Corax, mystified that such brilliant minds amongst the Mechanicum still clung to primitive techno-theologies - the tech-guilds of Kiavahr, for all their sins, had never pretended to serve a supernatural power. That the Emperor had been forced to treat with such a superstitious cult was proof of Mars’s importance to the Imperium, though; an importance that Corax was being forced to acknowledge at that precise moment.
‘Influence is applied through a mixture of promise and threat,’ he said aloud, quoting another of his prison mentors. ‘What promises does Delvere offer that we can counter?’
‘Only one of us can perhaps answer that question,’ replied Kanar, gesturing towards the unconscious Lacrymenthis.
‘Can you wake him?’ asked Corax.
‘Easily enough,’ said Kanar. The deformed magos crossed the chamber and stooped over his fallen colleague. He reached a hand into the man’s hood, fingers passing behind the neck. Lacrymenthis spasmed once, hard enough to lift his whole body from the floor. He continued to shudder slightly, fingers and feet twitching for several moments. His metallic claw scratched across the tiles, leaving three ragged marks.
‘Cerebral re-boot,’ Kanar said by way of explanation. ‘I installed it myself.’
Lacrymenthis opened bloodshot eyes, vacant for a few seconds as they stared at the ceiling. Life returned as he sat up, actuators whirring somewhere inside his body. Corax moved into an attack stance, one hand drawn back, as the tech-priest’s gaze met the primarch’s.
‘Make sure he makes no transmission,’ Corax told the others, his deathly stare fixed on Lacrymenthis.
‘His signal to the temple circuit interface has been disconnected,’ Loriark said. ‘No alarm will be raised.’
‘Flesh is irrelevant,’ said Lacrymenthis, focusing on Corax. ‘Threat of physical torture is inconsequential. My pain receptors have been reduced to minimum input.’
‘Neural core dump renders coercion unnecessary,’ said Kanar. ‘Core function downstrip will reveal memory receptacle interfaces. Your cooperation, however gained, is surplus.’
‘Memory core access will haemorrhage organic life processes,’ Lacrymenthis protested, flexing his metal hand. ‘Catastrophic personality failure would be irreversible. My loyalty to the wishes of the Archmagos and Magokritarch should not render me subject to total subjectivity termination. I sought to act to the benefit of Third District.’
And in doing so... acted against the... determined order... of compliance set by... your direct Magos Superior,’ said Firax. He Waved a hand towards Corax. ‘The prospects of... the Third District’s continued... prominence and prosperity... have been altered.’
‘I am capable of altering my perception of the situation also,’ claimed Lacrymenthis. ‘It seems detrimental to the cause of the temple to defy the will of the superior force, but the presence of the primarch adjusts the parameters considerably.’
‘Misfortune for you,’ said Kanar. ‘Should logic dictate that the best interest of Third District be served by your promotion to Magos Superior, you would not hesitate to cross-connect purpose with that of Delvere once more. To change loyalty is proof that further alterations of allegiance may be forthcoming.’
‘I would rather he was not killed, if it could be avoided,’ Corax said, understanding a little of Lacrymenthis’s complaint. When the tech-priest had made his decision to break from his fellows there had been sense in complying with the Archmagos’s demands rather than being replaced by someone else who would simply enact Delvere’s wishes anyway. Corax did not wish to punish ignorance too severely.
The primarch was no stranger to moral compromise. During the uprisings in Lycaeus he had needed every able man and woman for his freedom fighters and not all of the prisoners on the moon had been political internees. Some had been justly convicted murderers, rapists, thieves and wretches of the worst order. The overthrow of the corrupt regime had meant compromising the punishment - and justice for the victims - of these miscreants, but such was the necessity. In turn, once the techno-cults had been overthrown those that survived had been granted pardon for their deeds during the war, as Corax had been forced to promise them.
To the agents of the Mechanicum, the struggle between the forces of Horus and the Emperor might appear to be a morally ambivalent situation. Horus had done well to win the Fabricator-General of Mars to his cause before his betrayal became known, and now it could not be guaranteed whether any individual forge world was a potential ally or enemy of the Raven Guard.
‘Total personality assimilation with the temple will insure there is no misdirection or falsification,’ announced Loriark. He waved for Kanar and Bassili to seize Lacrymenthis. ‘Precision is ultimate.’
Lacrymenthis made no protest, shoulders sagging inside his heavy robe, resigned to his fate.
‘His datacore will relinquish its secrets over the n
ext few hours, primarch,’ said Kanar. ‘If we hasten the process it could lead to data corruption.’
‘You doubt the strength of our dedication to alliance, but how are we to know what you intend for the future of our world?’ said Loriark, turning his attention back to Corax. ‘Before we sacrifice one of our own, can you assure us that we will not suffer the same fate as Kiavahr?’
The discussion had reached an impasse, with both sides locked together by mutual need yet unable to prove the commitment required to further their plans. Corax did not like to use his Emperor-given gifts to cow others to his will - such measures were rarely lasting - but he pulled himself up to his full height, head nearly scraping the ceiling of the temple, and allowed the grandeur of his primarch essence to show. Pale flesh burned through blackened camouflage, revealing a ghost-white face, Corax’s eyes becoming orbs of utter darkness. He held up his claws; a mental command sent blue fronds of energy crackling along their length.
Should I wish it, I could kill you all now and depart. From here I would leave with my foes none the wiser, to return with my Legion to raze this planet and eradicate any threat it presents. No world is beyond the jurisdiction of the Emperor and his agents. Seven Legions were sent to destroy me at Isstvan, yet I survived. Do not think for a moment that this world possesses the power to destroy me. Any that move against the Nineteenth, as sure as iron rusts and flesh fails, I will see them slain by my own hand. Your need is greater than mine; do not scorn the opportunity of my presence.’
The effect on the tech-priests was immediate. Stunned by the magnificence and ferocity of the creature before them, they backed away, heads bowed to the authority of the primarch.