by Gav Thorpe
It was some time again before Arcatus spoke next.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will all venture into this labyrinth. What do you require of us?’
‘Thank you, Arcatus. Adjust your communications to the Raven Guard frequencies, Commander Agapito will furnish you with the details. Please divide your Custodians equally between the three expeditions. Agapito, you will lead team one. Arcatus, I will give you command of team two. Senior sergeant in the force is Nestil, correct?’
‘Yes, lord, Nestil has seniority,’ replied Agapito.
‘He shall be commander of the third team. Teams are to advance in combat squads, five men each, with ten metre dispersal in each squad and a twenty metre gap between squads. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, lord,’ said Agapito. ‘I shall start the briefing.’
‘This seems too dangerous work for uncertain reward,’ said Arcatus. ‘I hope it is worth it.’
Considering Arcatus’s words, the primarch took a moment to evaluate his course of action. From the moment the Raven Guard entered the Labyrinth, Corax and his warriors would be committed. The deadly series of traps and defences would be set in motion and there would be no chance of withdrawal. They would either reach the vault or die in the attempt. The leader of the Raven Guard was sure that the gene-tech held the key to resisting Horus, no matter the sacrifice required to acquire it.
‘It will be worth it, Custodian,’ replied Corax. ‘The Emperor would not go to all of this effort to protect something of no value. This gene-tech contains the secrets of our creation, and with those secrets the forces of the Emperor will multiply a hundredfold. When the Raven Guard strike back at Horus, you will be thankful of the choice you have made.’
‘If we survive that long,’ said Arcatus.
‘That will depend on your discipline and swift reactions,’ said Corax, ‘and I am in no doubt the Custodians have both in ample supply.’
With a nod, Arcatus returned to his men. The large hall rang with the thunder of boots as the Custodians and Raven Guard moved to their designated positions. Corax blocked out the chatter over the vox. He closed his eyes, creating a picture of the Labyrinth in his mind. No one had set foot within its walls since its completion, and so the primarch knew the starting layout from the schematics gifted to him by the Emperor.
The Emperor had designed the maze to outwit any foe, but had given Corax just enough insight to tip the balance. It was up to the primarch now to make the correct decisions. Corax had learnt to pick locks from Olda Geb back on Lycaeus, but he was about to pick the most complicated lock in all of the Imperium, devised by the Emperor himself.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the first fifty metres of the Labyrinth. He would know within that distance whether he could crack the secret of the maze. If not…
Corax chided himself for the moment of doubt. There would be no failure. He could not allow it. He had not said as much to Agapito, but in his calculations he had allowed for a ten per cent attrition rate. If that proved to be true, those Custodians and Raven Guard who gave their lives to the Labyrinth could not be allowed to die in vain.
He let out the breath.
It was time to start.
THE DRONE OF the air barges powering through Kiavahr’s polluted skies thrummed constantly through the cracked tiles on the roof, the vibrations sending a tiny but constant stream of dust across the glimmer of light that crept through a crack between the ill-fitting metal plates of the wall. The workers’ shack was dark except for that single glimmer, which created a dim pool of light in the centre of the hut and touched upon half-seen machines and tools piled along the walls. The air was thick with the smell of rust, moisture seeping through a small culvert beneath a broken sink on the wall opposite the door.
Omegon heard footsteps on the metal gantry outside. He stayed immobile, hidden by the shadows, his bolter held ready.
The plate of the door creaked open, shedding flakes of oxidised iron into the light that trickled through the opening. The doorway was lit from behind by the glow of a strobing searchlight, flickering through a red haze of rust-polluted air. A man with a loose tunic and baggy trousers appeared in silhouette. He darted a glance over his shoulder before stepping inside and closed the door behind him, blocking out the glow of the air barge navigation lights.
‘Councillor Effrit?’ he asked, stepping into the thin shaft of light. His pupils were wide, ineffectively trying to pierce the gloom. Omegon could see that his clothes were well-tailored, fashioned in the style favoured by the guilds before the coming of the Mechanicum. Layers of ornate cloth obscured the man’s figure, but from his pinched face and vein-heavy hands, Omegon could see that he was frail, his skin worn thin from decades of anti-agapics. His voice shared a reedy quality with his body. ‘It is Armand Eloqi.’
‘I can see who you are,’ said Omegon. The voice modulator trembled at his throat, adding two octaves to the pitch of his words. ‘Welcome.’
‘I cannot see you,’ said Eloqi.
‘That is for the best, for the moment,’ Omegon told him. ‘There is a seat to your left. Make yourself comfortable.’
‘It is a risk, meeting like this.’ Eloqi’s eyes continued to dart nervously from side to side, unable to locate Omegon. He did not sit down.
‘You were not followed,’ said Omegon. ‘You will be returned to the guild hall by the same means you arrived, with no suspicions aroused.’
‘Still, it seems to be an awful risk for no reason.’
‘Please, sit down, guildmaster,’ said Omegon. ‘We have a little while longer to wait.’
‘Wait?’ There was an edge of panic in Eloqi’s voice. Omegon smiled in the darkness. It was good that the guildmaster, and his allies, were on edge. In truth, there was no cause for them to be suspicious. The Mechanicum were totally unaware of any plot in their midst, but it suited Omegon’s need for secrecy for his pawns to be ever vigilant. Their nervousness also made their negotiating position weaker.
‘Sit down.’ Omegon did not bark or snarl the words, but he added just a little of the authority he could muster; authority that had sent warriors into battle without fear and equally despatched operatives to their necessary deaths.
Eloqi hesitantly sat on the rickety remnants of an old armchair, the fabric worn thin by generations of foremen who had slunk off their shifts to this hidey-hole to enjoy a moment’s peace from the docking yard below. It had not been used in years, not since the coming of the Mechanicum.
‘Your fortunes have failed of late,’ Omegon said quietly, his words delivered in a sympathetic tone. ‘Once you and your guild claimed rulership of Kiavahr, now you are reduced to underlings of the Mechanicum. A whole continent used to labour for your benefit, guildmaster, and the populace of an entire moon worked to death to bring ore and aggregate to the guilds’ workings. You grew powerful and your lives were filled with luxury. Do you miss that time, guildmaster?’
‘Of course,’ the old man snapped. ‘The dogs of Mars have swept away everything with their stupid hierarchies and cults. Not a die stamps nor a bolt is tightened without their artificial eyes watching, their mechanical brains counting. Scraps from their table, that’s what we must survive on now. They have not the courage to do away with us entirely, instead they inflict this wasting disease upon the guilds, bleeding us dry so that we will eventually wither and die, leaving them with the riches of Kiavahr.’
‘And you want to take that power back,’ Omegon prompted. ‘That is understandable. Why should you slave for the distant, uncaring Emperor or the Magi of Mars when your halls stand half-empty, your tables sparse and your treasuries looted.’
‘Exactly,’ said Eloqi. ‘Exactly my point, councillor. We were cowed, broken by the threat of annihilation, but the Mechanicum made a mistake in letting us live. We will take back Kiavahr. It took a hundred generations to build this world, and if it takes a hundred more to reclaim it, we will.’
‘Your freedom is so much closer than that,’ said Omegon. ‘W
ithin the year, I predict, the guilds will control Kiavahr again. You have a powerful ally, whom I represent. The Warmaster himself, Horus Lupercal, saviour of the Imperium, stands ready to support you.’
‘Horus?’ There was awe in the guildmaster’s voice. It turned to suspicion. ‘What interest does Horus have in humble Kiavahr?’
‘You will hear soon many disturbing tales about the Warmaster,’ said Omegon, ignoring the question. ‘There will be lies, spread by agents of the Emperor to sow discord amongst those who doubt the rightful rule of Terra. You must see through the deceit and stay true to your ideals. Horus looks to those who have suffered the tyranny of the Emperor to stand up for the cause of justice. Across the galaxy there are hundreds of worlds like yours, denied their freedom, denied the right to rule themselves because of some misguided notion of compliance. Horus will give you back your freedom, and in return he expects nothing more than the support of Kiavahr should he ask for it.’
‘Wait, this sounds a lot more dangerous than it did a moment ago,’ said Eloqi, standing up. ‘I am not sure I like where this is heading. Why have you only just mentioned Horus’s interest? What does he care for the fate of Kiavahr?’
‘Relax, Armand,’ Omegon said, in his most conciliatory tone. ‘We are allies, but we must be cautious. The Emperor and the Mechanicum will do everything they can to cling on to their power. You must understand that I had to assure myself of your dedication to freedom. Throwing off the shackles of the Mechanicum will not be easy, but you must understand that you must also face down the warriors of the Raven Guard.’
‘We cannot afford a war against the Legiones Astartes,’ said Eloqi. ‘You mentioned nothing of overt action, councillor. Do you think we are fools? Our aim is to gradually usurp power, not to openly wrest it from those who deny us the right to rule ourselves. I do not like the way in which you have changed the stakes.’
‘No trickery is intended,’ said Omegon, lying through his teeth and enjoying the manipulation of this weak-willed, ambitious man. He had said much the same thing to the other guildmasters, making each feel indispensable to the cause, massaging their precious egos. ‘It is because I can trust you that I reveal this information. You alone are privy to this knowledge and I know you will guard it with your life. The Raven Guard will pose little threat to the true rulers of Kiavahr. I can tell you now that they have suffered a massive reversal. I am sure you will learn the same from other sources soon.’
This much was true. By some means, news of Horus’s actions would spread and it would come to Kiavahr that half of the Legiones Astartes had turned on the Emperor. It was better that Horus’s version of events was heard first, casting doubt on the rumours and propaganda that would be following. Part of the bargain agreed with the Warmaster was for the Alpha Legion to spread disinformation ahead of this, whilst seeking new forces for Horus’s cause. It was a mission Alpharius and Omegon were well-prepared to undertake. On many other worlds, Alpha Legion operatives and legionnaires were already sowing discord amongst the Emperor’s followers and stoking thoughts of rebellion in those who had been forced into compliance by the Legiones Astartes.
‘I have heard whispers that Deliverance is all but empty, guarded by a handful of ships and no more,’ said the guildmaster.
‘They attempted to defy the Warmaster and now the Legion has been all but destroyed. With your help, we will finish their destruction and restore the rule of Kiavahr to those who deserve it.’
‘I do not understand this,’ said Eloqi. ‘The Raven Guard attacked the Sons of Horus?’
‘Indeed, just so. The Emperor, jealous of Horus’s power and popularity, sought to withdraw the rights he had granted his Warmaster, and sent several Legions to force Horus to surrender. Horus is not without many friends, though, and the lackeys of the Emperor were destroyed. The Raven Guard escaped by a twist of fate, but they are spent. Now is the time to strike. Unless, of course, you do not support Horus in his fight for liberty.’
Omegon left the consequences of such a view unsaid, but he could hear Eloqi’s heart beat a little faster as he filled in the blanks left by the primarch. A vague reference to punishment was worth a dozen specific threats in the minds of the weak. Whatever the guildmaster imagined would happen to him was far more worrying and personal than anything Omegon could devise.
‘The Warmaster will respect the power of the guilds? He will allow us to reinstate the old laws?’
Omegon could hear the calculation in Eloqi’s tone; the greed and desire to rule. The primarch knew what the guildmaster wanted to really hear but was too afraid to voice.
‘Deliverance will be overthrown and the colony of Lycaeus returned to the guilds,’ said Omegon. ‘Horus will give you autonomy, from Terra and Mars. He does not even demand your fealty, only your friendship. He asked for you by name, guildmaster.’
‘My name? Known to the Warmaster?’
A slight wheezing outside the shack came to Omegon, almost unheard amongst the clatter of a passing freight car.
‘My other guest will be arriving in moments,’ he told Eloqi. The guildmaster was nervous enough without having another arrive without some kind of warning. ‘Do not be alarmed.’
The door opened a few seconds later. A robed figure entered, swathed in folds of black and red. A gold mask glinted beneath a heavy cowl, cables and pipes protruding from the faceplate, linked to an ornate brass machine on the newcomer’s chest.
‘What is this?’ hissed Eloqi, backing away from the new arrival. Omegon silently side-stepped into the other corner, to avoid the guildmaster stumbling into him. ‘You have betrayed us.’
‘I said not to be alarmed,’ said Omegon. ‘Do not judge by appearances.’
‘I am Magos Unithrax, guildmaster,’ said the newcomer, his voice ringing from behind the mask. ‘I am here to help you overthrow the tyranny of Mars.’
‘You… You are one of them! One of the Mechanicum!’
‘Yes, and no,’ Unithrax said calmly. ‘I come from the Order of the Dragon, and answer to a different power from Terra. With the aid of my associates, I will see the guilds restored to power on Kiavahr.’
Eloqi was speechless, his terror still gripping him.
‘Unithrax will ensure the grip of the Mechanicum is broken from within,’ Omegon explained, speaking slowly to ensure the guildmaster heard him. ‘With the magi in disarray, the guilds will be able to overthrow the usurpers. You need his help, Armand. Believe me, you need his help.’
‘What if I choose not to ally myself with this thing?’ said Eloqi. ‘Maybe we do not want any more of your conspiracy.’
‘It is too late,’ said Unithrax. ‘Already wheels are in motion. You can either be elevated to power or be crushed by the forces we will unleash. The guilds will control Kiavahr and Lycaeus again. Whether you choose to number yourself amongst those guildmasters or not is irrelevant to our plans.’
Seeing that he had no choice, Eloqi nodded firmly, affecting an air of bravado.
‘Well, it seems that I was right to trust you, councillor,’ he said. ‘I knew there was more to you than a simple alliance of the guilds. The Warmaster can expect my full support.’
‘Good, I am glad that we are in agreement, Armand,’ said Omegon, suppressing a laugh at the hollow arrogance of the man. He could imagine the guildmaster’s ambitions growing, seeing himself in audience with Horus, perhaps a master of a dozen worlds or more. It was pitiful, really. ‘It would be wise of you to leave now. You will be contacted again in due course.’
‘Yes, very well,’ said Eloqi, circling around Unithrax to reach the door.
‘One other thing, guildmaster,’ said the magos as Unithrax was about to leave.
‘Yes?’
Unithrax held out a hand sheathed in a silvery gauntlet.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said the magos.
Eloqi grunted and took the proffered hand in his grip. A moment later he squealed and ripped away his hand as if stung.
‘A g
uarantee of your cooperation, guildmaster,’ said Unithrax, holding up a fingertip that glinted with a needlepoint in the low light.
‘What have you done?’ demanded Eloqi, looking at his wrist.
‘A neurotoxin, guildmaster. It is inactive at the moment, of no threat. However, should you disclose my presence or betray our cause in any way, you can be assured that the catalysing agent will be introduced into your system: air, food, water, all can be used.’
Aghast, Eloqi stared at the puncture mark on his wrist and then glared at the magos before stumbling from the cabin.
‘Was that really necessary?’ Omegon asked, cautioning himself not to get too close to the renegade magos. It was possible that the Order of the Dragon had a poison that would work on primarchs too. ‘You can be so unsubtle at times.’
‘Let us hope it is a needless precaution, but it is not without benefit,’ replied Unithrax. ‘When the Order of the Dragon takes control, the guilds will be of no further use. Better to lay the groundwork now and ease their disposal later. Before I leave, I have messages for you, from the Fabricator-General, concerning developments on Mars.’
‘I am sure you do,’ said Omegon. ‘I am sure you do.’
THE WALLS OF the passageway were lined with large panels of a dark grey material. Alpharius ran a hand over it, the sensors in his gauntlets conveying its smooth texture to his fingertips. Tiny temperature detectors told him it was cold to the touch. Slamming his fist into one of the panels, Alpharius noted hairline cracks appearing, radiating out from the impact.
‘Ceramite,’ he said. ‘Like our armour.’
‘Don’t touch anything,’ snapped Sergeant Dor. ‘Not without the primarch’s say-so. If something shoots at you, shoot back, but don’t do anything else without orders.’
‘Yes, sergeant,’ said Alpharius, regretting his action immediately. Curiosity was not a trait that would be rewarded in his current situation. He stepped back into the group of legionaries, realising he had drawn attention to himself.
Dor and his squad were the lead element, split into two five-man groups. Alongside Dor were Alpharius, Lukar, Velps, and Marko with the multi-melta. They had covered perhaps seventy metres of the passageway, which was lit by strips inserted into the angle between ceiling and walls, bathing the legionaries in an unwavering yellow glow.