‘You think this is survival?’ Sarpedon held his arms wide, indicating not just his cell but everything beyond. ‘The human race is in its death throes! It inflicts miseries upon its people to protect them from its enemies, and yet it is those miseries that bring such enemies into being! Why do so many desperate people turn from the Emperor’s light and make pacts with the Dark Powers? Why do they cry out to be delivered and so walk right into xenos hands? The Imperium inflicts these wounds upon itself. It is nothing more than the slow death of mankind.’
‘You will need to find a far better orator than yourself, Sarpedon, to sway the mind of a Sister of Battle,’ retorted Aescarion sourly. ‘I did not come here to let you practice your closing arguments on me. I am here about my late master, Inquisitor Thaddeus. You know of him?’
Sarpedon sat back down on his haunches. ‘Yes. I knew him.’
‘Personally?’
‘A little.’
‘Thaddeus had the chance to take you down on Stratix Luminae. Perhaps kill you. But he did not take that chance. I was with him at the time and I did not understand his decision. I still do not. I want to know why Inquisitor Thaddeus, a servant of the Emperor and sworn enemy of all that hates mankind, chose to let you go.’
Sarpedon’s memories of Inquisitor Thaddeus were of a man who, at first sight, was completely out of his depth. He had looked like a functionary of the Administratum, some middle-ranking nobody. Some Inquisitors proclaimed their office with the most obvious and terrifying battlegear they could find, huge retinues of warriors and experts, even fleets and armies of their own. But Thaddeus walked softly in his duties.
‘After Stratix Luminae he tried to keep track of us, even after the Inquisition ordered us deleted from Imperial history,’ said Sarpedon. ‘When he found us on Vanqualis he had been hunting down every rumour of us. He had found… there were legends of us in places I was sure the Chapter had never been. One was of the Black Chalice. Another was the Ashen Grail. I did not give much thought to them at the time but now I fear there is some web that has been spun out there, in which the Soul Drinkers have their part but of which they are ignorant. Thaddeus was trying to unravel it.’
‘But he did not succeed,’ said Aescarion.
‘No. I imagine he is dead. The Howling Griffons crossed our path there, perhaps Captain Borganor can tell you more after he stops complaining about me cutting off his leg.’
‘But Thaddeus knew none of this on Stratix Luminae. Why not kill you then when he could?’ insisted Aescarion.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Sarpedon, ‘he knew we were right?’
Aescarion lost her cool for a second. She slammed the palm of her hand into the cell door. ‘You dare!’ she hissed. ‘He would never have thrown in his lot with your kind. Thaddeus was a good man. The best of men.’
‘But you want me to tell you that he was not corrupted. That hardly suggests you have great confidence in the man.’
‘You are just toying with me, Sarpedon. I will not provide you with any more amusement. You don’t know Thaddeus’s motives and I will content myself with that.’ Aescarion turned, about to rejoin her Imperial Fist minders and leave.
‘He tried to warn us,’ Sarpedon said. ‘The Ashen Grail and the Black Chalice, and everything else he found, it all pointed to something he was trying to warn us about. I don’t think even he knew what he had found, but his misgivings were deep enough for him to defy the deletion order and seek us out.’
‘Then he was leading you into a trap,’ said Aescarion.
‘And you have misgivings too. Otherwise you would not have sought me out here. How many lashes would a Sororitas receive for conversing with a known heretic? And yet you come to my cell looking for answers. You see it too, just like Thaddeus did. Something about this trial is wrong and you know it. Daenyathos’s return, here of all places, is no coincidence.’
‘There is no coincidence. You came to the Veiled Region to seek him out. You and he both are puppets of that thing Abraxes that Varnica spoke of.’
‘Well, sister, if you have made up your mind about everything already there hardly seems a need to question me at all.’
Aescarion shook her head. ‘Part of me wishes to know what must have to happen to an Adeptus Astartes before he can turn from the Emperor’s light. But I fear that such knowledge itself has the power to corrupt. I should have let you keep your silence, traitor. I hope this trial ends before you can do any more damage.’
‘Then I doubt you and I have anything more to say to one another.’
Aescarion didn’t bother to reply. She turned smartly on an armoured heel and walked out of sight down the brig corridor. One of the Imperial Fists slammed the window shut, and Sarpedon was alone again.
When visitors sought an audience with Chapter Master Vladimir on the Phalanx, he often chose to receive them in the Sigismarch Forest. This artificial woodland occupied an area amidships on one of the uppermost decks, its greenery illuminated by an artificial sun that made a circuit once every twenty-four hours. A river ran though it, fresh water diverted from the crew’s drinking supply to create the illusion that the forest was just part of a far greater lush and peaceful land where, even on board a vast weapon of war, a place of contemplation might be found.
‘So,’ said Vladimir, taking his place sat on a tree stump by the river bank where he was accustomed to receive his petitioners. ‘Speak.’
In the clearing before Vladimir stood Reinez. Behind him were the officers of the Adeptus Astartes who had come to the Phalanx for the trial. They included Varnica, whose evidence had prompted this re-evaluation of the whole trial. None of the captains and Librarians had brought their retinues with them, for this was not the place for a competitive show of arms.
‘I put it to the Justice Lord,’ began Reinez, ‘that the accused Sarpedon must be considered a moral threat. Librarian Varnica’s evidence proves the accused’s complicity with powers of the warp. This trial must cease and the executions be administered immediately.’ Reinez spoke with a snarling bluntness that made it clear he had thought this from the very start.
‘I see,’ said Vladimir. ‘Indeed, Varnica’s statements have changed the complexion of this trial. And yet I must see to it that justice is not only done, but that no man can find any reason to suggest that the course of justice has not been followed. For evidence of warpcraft, I have but the evidence of one Adeptus Astartes. As high as the esteem in which I hold you, Librarian Varnica, you are but one.’
‘That I cannot deny, my lord,’ replied Varnica. ‘But I know what I saw. The stink of the warp hangs over this whole affair.’
‘And when was suspicion ever insufficient evidence in matters of a moral threat?’ added Reinez.
‘I know that you long to see Sarpedon dead, Reinez,’ replied Vladimir, pointedly omitting any rank when he addressed the Crimson Fist, for since Reinez had become a penitent he had abandoned all rank within his own Chapter. ‘But this trial is not held to give you your vengeance. If you are to remain in the position of prosecutor you must be patient.’
‘Patient? Must I have the patience to endure that heretic speaking in his own defence? And from whence shall I gather the patience, Justice Lord, to sit unmoved through all the lies of the Soul Drinkers? Is Daenyathos to speak, too? Luko, and Salk, and all the Soul Drinkers, are they to have their chance to utter corruption as well?’
‘If that is what it takes for me to be satisfied that justice is done,’ said Vladimir, ‘then yes.’
‘The Soul Drinkers are not the only ones who will have their time to speak,’ said another voice, one who had not joined in the discussion as yet. It was that of Captain N’Kalo of the Iron Knights. The Iron Knights were, like the Soul Drinkers, a successor Chapter of the Imperial Fists, and the stain on Dorn’s honour had seemed enough to bring a delegation from the Iron Knights to the Phalanx. Suddenly, the other Adeptus Astartes present were not so sure that N’Kalo was here just as a matter of course.
‘You have seen th
e Soul Drinkers for a moral threat?’ asked Reinez.
‘No,’ replied N’Kalo levelly. ‘I will speak in their defence.’ N’Kalo’s expression was impossible to guess at since his face was covered. He wore, even in the presence of the Chapter Master, a helm with an eye slit reminiscent of plate armour from some feudal world. Everywhere on him were hung campaign medallions, laurels and purity seals, the steel of his armour only just showing through the brocade of his many honours.
‘Their defence?’ snarled Reinez.
‘N’Kalo, brother, what are you saying?’ demanded Siege-Captain Daviks.
‘I say just what I say,’ replied N’Kalo. ‘I wish to speak in defence of Sarpedon and the Soul Drinkers. Will you deny me that right?’
‘I shall!’ barked Reinez. ‘As the prosecutor in the Emperor’s name I deny you any right to interfere in the punishment of that heretic!’ Reinez jabbed a finger in N’Kalo’s face, but the Iron Knight did not flinch.
‘Reinez!’ shouted Vladimir. ‘This is not your decision to make.’
‘By the Throne, I say it is! Upon my honour as an Adeptus Astartes, you will have to go through me before you utter one word that does not condemn the traitors!’
‘If I may,’ interjected Commander Gethsemar of the Angels Sanguine, ‘I believe that the precedent exists for him to do just that.’ Gethsemar, like N’Kalo, had spoken little, and his voice was a smooth, honeyed sound quite at odds with the warrior heritage of his Chapter.
‘Is that what you desire, Reinez?’ said Vladimir. ‘An honour-duel with Captain N’Kalo?’
‘If that is what it takes,’ replied Reinez, still face to face with N’Kalo. ‘If the Emperor lends strength to my arm, N’Kalo stays silent and the Soul Drinkers are condemned no matter what he wishes.’
‘And if I best you,’ said N’Kalo, ‘I say my piece.’
‘It does not matter what you will do,’ said Reinez. ‘I have torn the throats from warp-beasts a million miles from any Battle-Brother. I stood on worlds as they died and fought through armies of the damned to survive. You are a child compared to me. You cannot win. Drop to one knee now, acknowledge me your superior, and there need be no duel. I will accept your surrender without your having to suffer at my hand.’
‘I would not deny you the pleasure of breaking my bones,’ said N’Kalo, voice still calm.
‘Where is this duel to be held?’ said Gethesemar.
‘Here,’ replied Reinez. ‘This is the place where Sigismund, the first Templar, came to contemplate his duty, is it not?’
‘It is,’ replied Vladimir.
‘Then perhaps Captain N’Kalo will have the chance to contemplate his own duties as he lies on this ground beneath my boot.’
‘Enough talk, Reinez!’ said Vladimir. ‘Gethsemar, since you proposed it, you shall oversee the duel. Brothers, gather your Adeptus Astartes so that all will witness the result. N’Kalo, Reinez, select your weapons and make yourselves ready. Then we shall have no more discussion of this matter. The honour-duel shall be final. This is the Emperor’s justice, and all aboard will hold to it as His word.’
‘Amen,’ said Reinez with a smile.
Gethsemar revelled in his role as master of ceremonies. He changed his mask for one with a stern brown and downturned mouth, ruby eyes and a stylised scar on one cheek. His Sanguinary Guard stood watch alongside him, glaives drawn, framed by the wing-like stabilising fins on their jump packs. Their gilded armour gleamed almost painfully bright as the forest’s artificial sun came overhead and bathed the riverside glade in light. Lysander waited behind them, knowing that although he was here to enforce Vladimir’s will just as much as the Angels Sanguine, there was no need to impede Gethsemar’s sense of showmanship.
Around the edge of the clearing were stood the Space Marines attending the trial. There had not been enough room for all the Howling Griffons so Borganor looked on flanked only by his honour guard. A single squad of Imperial Fists attended Vladimir. Kolgo was there too, with his Sisters of Battle in attendance. The Iron Knights who had accompanied N’Kalo stood a little apart, perhaps aware that if their commander lost this duel they would be leaving the Phalanx very quickly.
Reinez had chosen his thunder hammer to fight with. It was a well-used weapon, its adamantium head well-scored in hundreds of battles. Reinez made a few warm-up swings, loosening his arms and shoulders, and the weapon thrummed through the air as if it was purring with pleasure at the impending combat.
N’Kalo had chosen a double-handed sword from the armoury of the Phalanx, a weapon normally wielded by the Imperial Fist chosen to serve as the Emperor’s Champion while on campaign. As an Iron Knight who called Rogal Dorn his Primarch like the Imperial Fists, N’Kalo had the right to wield such a weapon. It was a compromise – his own power sword, now held by one of his Iron Knights, was one-handed, and might have been shattered or knocked from his hand trying to parry Reinez’s thunder hammer. The champion’s blade would not break, but it would be slower.
‘In the sight of Rogal Dorn,’ intoned Gethsemar, ‘beneath the aegis of Blessed Sanguinius and of the Emperor of Mankind, our battle-brothers here seek justice through the clash of holy arms. May the Emperor lend strength to the arm of the righteous! Begin!’
For a long moment, neither Space Marine moved as they gauged each other’s stance, deciding which way to go. Reinez crouched low, hammer held behind him ready to strike. N’Kalo’s sword was up in a guard, the point hovering level with Reinez’s eyeline.
Reinez moved first. N’Kalo barely reacted in time, bringing the blade down to block the blow that Reinez aimed at his legs. N’Kalo pivoted and caught Reinez with an elbow, but it clanged harmlessly into the Crimson Fist’s breastplate. Reinez hooked N’Kalo’s leg with his hammer and threw him head over heels backwards, to sprawl on the grass.
Reinez’s hammed arced down. N’Kalo rolled aside as it slammed into the ground, throwing up a great shower of earth and leaving a crater in the dark soil. N’Kalo swung wildly, a vast steel crescent that Reinez sidestepped with ease before landing a kick so hard in N’Kalo’s side that the Iron Knight was thrown to the ground again.
‘I’ll hear your surrender any time,’ gasped Reinez. ‘There is no shame in it. Any time.’
N’Kalo responded with a reverse strike from the ground, the sword’s point arrowing up behind him towards Reinez’s throat. Reinez batted it aside with the haft of his hammer and cracked the butt of the weapon into the side of N’Kalo’s head. N’Kalo reeled and Reinez closed, driving his shoulder into N’Kalo’s midriff and hauling the Space Marine off the ground.
Reinez hefted N’Kalo into the air and threw him. N’Kalo tumbled over the bank of the river and into the water, the powerful stream foaming around him. Reinez jumped in after him, dragging N’Kalo to his feet. The water came up to each Space Marine’s chest. Reinez slammed a headbutt into the face of N’Kalo’s helm, denting the ceramite faceplate.
N’Kalo drove a knee into the inside of Reinez’s thigh. Reinez stumbled back a step, feet slipping on the stones and mud of the artificial riverbed. N’Kalo crunched an elbow into the back of Reinez’s head and pulled his sword from the water again, slicing left and right. Reinez deflected each blow with his hammer or glanced them from his shoulder pads.
N’Kalo paused, having created the space he needed between the two combatants. He shifted his footing to plant himself more firmly on the bed of mud and rocks. Behind him, rapids rushed around several large boulders, plunging down a low waterfall. The branches of overhanging willows almost brushed the river’s surface. If it were not for the two Adeptus Astartes struggling to shed one another’s blood, it would have been a tranquil and beautiful place.
N’Kalo’s breath was heaving. Reinez looked like he had barely broken a sweat. N’Kalo had not yet managed to draw blood from the Crimson Fist.
‘Do you think this will be over?’ said Reinez as he forged through the waters, trying to force N’Kalo back towards the rapids. ‘If the galaxy turns upsid
e-down and you beat me, how long do you think your victory will last? You think you will have any brothers here? They will turn their backs on you.’
‘They are not so consumed with bitterness as you, Reinez,’ replied N’Kalo. ‘They have not let failure make them less of an Adeptus Astartes.’
Reinez’s face darkened. He spat a wordless syllable of anger and charged – not at N’Kalo, but at the closest tree that clung to the riverbank. Reinez wrenched the tree free of its roots, showering dirt and loose stones across the water.
Reinez’s anger gave him strength. N’Kalo had barely the time to get his sword up before Reinez slammed the shattered tree trunk into him, throwing him backwards into the water. The impact was enough to knock him senseless and his heavy armoured body thudded onto the riverbed, waters rushing around him.
Reinez pounced from the bank into the water, one knee pounding square into N’Kalo’s solar plexus. Reinez hauled the Iron Knight over his head, out of the water, and slammed him down into one of the massive boulders making up the rapids. The boulder shattered under the impact and N’Kalo sprawled against it, water foaming white around him, unable to move.
Reinez planted a foot on N’Kalo’s midriff. Both hands free now, his hammer holstered, he grabbed the lower edge of N’Kalo’s helmet and wrenched it halfway around, forcing it off N’Kalo’s head.
The helmet came free with a shower of sparks. Reinez was looking into a face severely burned, every blister and scour looking like it had just been inflicted, red and weeping. N’Kalo’s lips were pale streaks in the blackened skin, his eyes kept open only by artificial surfaces of milky glass that made them look blind. His jaw and back teeth showed through the tears in his cheeks, and segments of cranium glinted as if polished between the stringy remnants of his scalp.
‘When I am finished with you,’ spat Reinez, ‘you will look back and remember how handsome you were.’
Reinez shouldered N’Kalo over the rapids down the falls. The Iron Knight was barely sensible as he plunged into the pool formed by the waterfall. Reinez stood on the rapids, hauling another rock up from the riverbed. He hurled it down at N’Kalo, who got an arm up to ward off the worst of the impact but who was crushed down into the pool, trapped by its weight.
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