The atrium was humming with insect-song and the particular chirrup of a certain species of songbird native to many former aeldari worlds. He believed that they were descendants of pets, left to go feral when their masters had abandoned their empire. The songbirds were brightly hued, exceedingly toxic and possessed a range of vocalisations reminiscent of the screams of dying animals.
The atrium was Zorzi’s fiefdom. The World Eater had a talent for botany. Strange flowers grew on the thick creepers that spread across the walls and floor, filling the space with a curious scent. Some of the plants were more than just pretty decorations. They were hungry things, and the reason there was so few vermin about.
‘Speaking of which,’ he muttered, studying his fellow Apothecaries. Only a handful remained. Khorag Sinj. Duco, the Night Lord. Emicos Shard and Aelian Hadal, of the Third. The Smiling Count, whose fingers were tipped with syringes. Gemerax of Ironhold. The ones with nowhere else to go, or no pressing need to depart. He considered making conversation with them, but didn’t see the point. Gemerax was a fool, and the Count was a lunatic. Shard and Hadal were arrogant opportunists who rarely deigned to speak to anyone of a lesser Legion. And Khorag… well. Khorag was Khorag.
He heard a scrape of ceramite and turned. Savona and Bellephus had entered the atrium. He gave the latter a respectful nod. As far as he was concerned the Third was and always had been mostly a dumping ground for lunatics, fops and utter fools. Bellephus was one of the few he’d found tolerable for short periods. Until he started reciting poetry.
Savona, on the other hand, was a creature more to Skalagrim’s liking. There was spiteful fire to her that made conversation interesting. Sometimes, he found himself half-wondering what the limits of her pain-tolerance might be, or how she might look without eyes. Given the way she looked at him at times, he suspected she wondered much the same about him. Duco followed his gaze.
‘I’d keep my distance,’ he muttered.
‘Life is for the living,’ Skalagrim replied.
Something snuffled at his leg, and he looked down into the serene, mindless gaze of Khorag’s pet. Paz’uz gurgled cheerfully as it smeared its acidic ichor across his shin. The beast was a rotund, slug-like thing with flippers and carcinogenic flesh. It chuckled and wheezed as Skalagrim shooed it away.
‘Khorag, call off your damned beast!’
‘Come here, Paz’uz, there’s a good boy,’ Khorag said, chuckling. The beast lolloped towards him, gasping and gulping happily. The others gave it a wide berth. Its saliva could eat through steel. ‘You should feel honoured, Skalagrim. He does not take to everyone.’
‘That’s a lie,’ Duco said. ‘I once saw that beast follow Gorel around for an hour. Not even the vatborn liked Gorel.’ A ripple of laughter greeted this anecdote, but it faltered quickly. Gorel was dead, and there was precious little fun to be had in mocking the dead. They all looked at one another, and Skalagrim wondered at the unease on every face – save that of the Count, who was whistling cheerfully.
‘What was his mood like, when you spoke to him, Sinj?’ Gemerax asked.
Khorag grunted, smoke spewing from the grimy vents of his battleplate. ‘Bleak, I would say. You remember the years following that disastrous turn at Harmony?’
Duco cursed. ‘Wonderful. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m leaving and taking everything I can carry with me.’
‘Spoken like a true son of the Eighth,’ Emicos said. Aelian tittered appreciatively. Duco rounded on the two Emperor’s Children.
‘Like you haven’t had similar thoughts,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you two – scuttling about, looking for that gene-tithe. Planning to use it to buy your way into Eidolon’s good graces, are you?’
‘As if you wouldn’t do the same,’ Skalagrim said. ‘As if any of us aren’t planning something similar.’ He looked around. Only Khorag and the Count met his gaze. ‘The others were fools – they panicked and ran, taking the obvious things. But we’re smarter aren’t we? We all know that there are greater treasures to be had than some foetal war-mutants or a bit of cloned gene-seed. That’s why we all stayed.’
‘And I am pleased that you did,’ Fabius said as he entered the atrium, followed by the strange figure of Wolver, hands clasped behind their back. The strategium overseer looked out of place among the greenery. So did Fabius, come to that.
He seemed a fragile figure to Skalagrim. A broken thing, fit only for the butchering. It was startling, to say the least. Maybe Gorel had been right – Fabius wasn’t the same man who’d vanished into the maw of Commorragh. He’d lost a step somewhere, and now they were all paying for it.
Fabius stopped and studied them. ‘I require allies,’ he said, after a moment.
‘Too little, too late for that,’ the Smiling Count chortled. Fabius raised an eyebrow, but did not reply directly. Instead, he looked around.
‘I do not believe that the drukhari will stop at Peleus-Tertius. They will keep coming. I underestimated them before. But not now. To that end, I have put out the call to all who owe me a debt. Some chose not to respond, particularly those warbands formerly of the Third. Emicos, Aelian – you will go to these warlords and remind them of what they owe me.’
The two Apothecaries looked at one another, and then at Fabius. ‘And if they do not listen?’ Emicos asked.
‘You will see that they do. This is my command as Chief Apothecary and lieutenant commander. Remind them that it was they who made me commander, in the absence of our father. Remind them the Twelfth stands with me. And remind them what happens to those who cross me.’ He pointed at Gemerax and the Count. ‘Though neither of you are of the Third, I ask the same of you. Ironhold owes me a debt, as does the Choir of Tears. I am calling in my markers.’
Gemerax frowned, his seamed features crinkling like leather. ‘It will not be easy to convince them. But I will try.’
The Smiling Count merely chuckled and shrugged. Fabius held the lunatic’s gaze for long moments, until the Count ceased his chuckles and nodded.
Fabius looked at Khorag.
The Death Guard sighed wetly. ‘Typhus will not come to your aid, Fabius. Nor will Mortarion. You belong to Fulgrim, and my Legion will not bestir themselves to aid the possession of another.’ He stroked Paz’uz’s malformed skull. ‘Still, I will make the effort.’
‘That is all I ask, my friend.’
Khorag chortled. ‘A loaded word, that. Especially where you’re concerned, Fabius. But I take it as a compliment.’
Fabius looked at Duco. ‘And you?’
Duco shrugged. ‘Why not? But as Khorag said – my brothers are not known for honouring such agreements. If they sense some profit in it, they’ll come. If not…’
Fabius nodded. He swept his gaze across the gathered Apothecaries. ‘I expect the answer is much the same for all of you. It does not matter. Those who ignore my request will be dealt with accordingly.’
‘If you survive,’ Duco said.
Fabius gestured dismissively. ‘My survival is not in doubt, Duco.’ He leaned on his cane. ‘But your concern is noted. Go. Take what vessels you wish from those that remain.’
As the Apothecaries filed out, Skalagrim snorted. ‘You know that most of them won’t do as you ask,’ he said, arms crossed. ‘Khorag, maybe Duco. But the others will flee and hide, hoping to avoid the fate you race towards.’
Fabius nodded. ‘There is an old Terran saying about rats and burning vessels that comes to mind. But some will make the attempt, at least. And some of my former allies may well remember their debts.’
‘And if not?’
‘Then the forces I have will serve.’ Fabius met Skalagrim’s gaze. ‘One makes do with the tools one has.’ He turned his attentions to Savona and Bellephus. ‘As for the Twelfth…’
Savona made a rude sound. ‘After that last debacle, I have barely a handful of warriors at my command remaining
.’ She glanced at Bellephus, who murmured something. ‘Maybe two hundred.’
‘More than a handful, I think,’ Fabius said.
‘It was three hundred,’ she said pointedly. ‘We left a hundred good–’
‘Adequate,’ Bellephus interjected.
‘Adequate warriors on Peleus-Tertius. Most of them were still alive when the planet folded in on itself.’
Skalagrim frowned, remembering the moment. He had seen worlds die before, and even endured the slow collapse of a ship caught in the gravity well of a black hole. The last moments of Peleus-Tertius, however, were unlike any he had ever witnessed. He’d always assumed that he knew all there was to know about terror. He and his brothers had traded in it for centuries. But the creatures that inhabited Commorragh took it to an art form. To kill a world in order to capture one man – it was madness. The sort of madness he wanted no part of.
‘I gave the order to retreat,’ Fabius said. ‘That they did not do so is not my error but theirs. You, at least, survived. And I have no doubt that your dauntless two hundred are equal to twice that number of drukhari.’
‘Some of them, certainly.’ Savona smirked. ‘Things would be easier if your pets hadn’t decided to turn on us.’
‘You have something to say, Savona?’ Fabius said.
‘Yes. And I just did. You decided to up stakes for the darkest reaches of the bloody webway, and your creatures went feral the moment you were gone. And then, when you finally deign to return, do you discipline them? No. You let them carve out their own little kingdoms in the ruins and left them to it.’
‘Enough,’ Fabius said. ‘You’re right, of course.’
Savona paused. ‘I’m what?’
‘You are correct. In hindsight, I made an error. One I will rectify at the soonest opportunity.’ Fabius looked around. ‘I am not so arrogant as to ignore recent lessons. I have made as many errors as I have gains of late. If we survive the storm to come, that will change. Everything will change.’
‘Meaning?’ Savona pressed.
‘For too long, I have been content to hide here and bury myself in my studies. I have lived the life of a hermit. But I am not a hermit. The time has come to seize destiny by the throat and make it beg for mercy.’
Savona grinned. ‘Finally.’ She pointed her maul at Fabius. ‘I’m holding you to that declaration, old man. But until then… I’ll see what I can do.’ With that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the atrium, trailed by Bellephus.
‘A fine speech,’ Skalagrim said. ‘How much of it did you mean?’
Fabius ignored the question. ‘You still have allies among what is left of the Sons of Horus.’ It was not a question.
Skalagrim nodded. ‘Some few, yes. Most have taken the black and joined Abaddon.’
‘All the better.’
‘Why?’
Fabius hesitated. ‘As I said, I have made many errors. Pride has prevented me seeing opportunity. The Black Legion is one of the largest organised military bodies in the Eye. And Ezekyle, whatever his other faults – and they are many – is a pragmatic soul. I have things he needs. In return, he might well send me a few warriors.’
Skalagrim frowned. There was something Fabius wasn’t saying. And the thought of reaching out to old comrades wasn’t a pleasant one. ‘Or he might laugh while the drukhari flay you to the bone.’
Fabius shrugged. ‘Either way, you will deliver a message for me. Use your contacts among his forces to ensure your safe passage.’
‘Are you mad?’
Fabius looked down at the flowers that crept across the nearby vines. ‘Madness is a matter of perspective as well as context. The actions of a lunatic may well prove sane, when viewed at a distance.’
Skalagrim growled deep in his throat. ‘The question was rhetorical. I know you’re mad. But what I do not know is when you crossed the line from mad to suicidal.’
Fabius turned back from the flowers. ‘I am tired of running. I ran from Terra. From Arden. From Harmony. From Urum, Lugganath and Solemnace. I have spent my life running from the knife. Running from the stone.’ He crushed the blossom. ‘The running ends here. My story ends here, for good or ill.’
Skalagrim stared at him. ‘So you’d send me to my death as well?’
‘You are the one person he will not kill.’ Fabius looked at the other Apothecary. ‘Abaddon is many things. But he is not a fool. You are an experienced Apothecary – trained by my hand, no less. Something his Black Legion is in desperate need of.’ He paused. ‘How’s your omophageac reflex these days?’
He gestured, and a vatborn shuffled forward, bearing a heavy cryo-canister on its back. Fabius retrieved it with one hand and tossed it to Skalagrim.
‘This is my brain – or, rather, a cloned facsimile. It has been uploaded with all of my knowledge, as of the last few weeks.’
Skalagrim stared at it. ‘What about–?’
‘No. No wraithbone. No secrets. No traps. Just neural tissue, for your private consumption. As a further sop to Ezekyle’s ego, I will send you with a quarter of the gene-tithe I secured from Solemnace.’
Skalagrim’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
‘Pure gene-seed. And the knowledge to make the best use of it. I suggest cultivating it as a base for cloned tissue, but I leave the decision in your hands.’
‘Why do this?’ Skalagrim asked.
‘I should have thought that was obvious. Win or lose, I will require allies. Protection, even. All that I have built over these last centuries is sand and the tide is coming in. Once the waters have receded, I will need to rebuild. I will need… help.’
‘The warmaster, you mean.’
‘Possibly. And with you, I will have a voice in his camp. He will owe me a debt, however small.’
Skalagrim frowned. ‘Do you think I’m a fool?’
‘Yes. Why?’
Skalagrim shook his head. ‘Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’re sending us all away. Why?’
Fabius was silent for a moment. ‘Do you recall Prospero?’
‘The world?’
‘Yes. When Russ and his curs burned it, a wealth of knowledge unequalled in the galaxy burned with it. I have always held that Magnus’ greatest sin was not what he did to his sons, or to his world, but that he allowed the Space Wolves to erase all that wisdom from the universe.’ He fixed Skalagrim with a hard stare. ‘I am not Magnus. The knowledge I have gathered, it will live on. In you and the others.’
Skalagrim laughed. ‘That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard you say.’
Fabius turned back to the flowers. ‘As I said, sentiment. You will take the Vesalius.’ He paused and looked up. ‘Do you understand, Wolver?’
The strategium overseer was silent for long moments. ‘The Vesalius understands,’ they said finally. But there was a hint of doubt in the monotone phrasing.
‘But do you?’ Fabius said. ‘You, Wolver,’ he pressed. ‘Loyal Wolver. Do you understand? You will follow his orders as if they were mine.’ He looked at Skalagrim. ‘When you have reached Black Legion territory, I expect you to release them.’
‘Release them?’
‘Yes. I have absolved the Vesalius of its obligations. They are free to make their own way in this galaxy, as best they might.’ Fabius looked back at Wolver. ‘This is my last gift to you. You are no longer a ship of the line, but something else. Something wondrous. And I would see you flourish.’
Wolver stared at him in silence. Hands of glass rose as if to pluck away the brass mask. They fell, mask untouched. ‘The Vesalius understands, Benefactor. The Vesalius loves you. The Vesalius thanks you.’
Fabius nodded and looked back at Skalagrim. ‘This is your chance to return to your brothers, wolf – an opportunity few of us ever receive. Do not throw it away.’
Skalagrim looked down at the caniste
r in his hands. The thought made him queasy. But if it could be done…
He laughed softly.
‘Who am I to turn down an opportunity?’
‘Is this wise, Chief Apothecary?’ Arrian asked, as Skalagrim followed the others out.
‘Which part exactly?’ Fabius replied.
‘All of it.’
Fabius laughed. ‘No. It is most decidedly not. In fact, I have a strong suspicion that it will all go horribly wrong, before the end. But, as I said to Skalagrim, one does what one can with the tools one has. A good lesson to carry forward in your future endeavours, Arrian.’
‘As you say, Chief Apothecary.’
‘And on that note…’
‘No,’ Arrian said firmly.
Fabius paused. ‘What?’
‘No. I will not go. I will not be dismissed like Zargad, Khorag and the others.’ Arrian tapped at his skulls. ‘I will not be sent on some impossible mission so that you might die unencumbered by whatever shreds of guilt remain to beings such as us.’
Fabius stared at him. ‘And if I order you to go?’
‘I will ignore it.’
Fabius laughed softly. ‘A hound’s loyalty, eh?’
‘Whatever else, you have earned that much at least.’ Arrian scratched at his implants. ‘And I think you are not the only one on borrowed time. We are all debtors to the future, Chief Apothecary. Some of us more than others.’
Fabius looked up at the remnants of the armourglass dome overhead. At the thick creepers and fat blossoms. At the birds in their thorny nests.
‘You truly made this place beautiful, you know,’ he said after a moment. ‘And not just this place. Every world I have chosen to make my home, you have made beautiful in some small way. I have never understood your efforts in that regard.’ He looked at Arrian. ‘Or why you chose to be my servant.’
Arrian shrugged. ‘Someone had to.’
Fabius laughed again. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He paused. ‘I need you to… speak to her. After I depart.’
Manflayer - Josh Reynolds Page 23