The Crimson King

by Graham McNeill

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Yes!’ screamed Chaiya. ‘Yes, I hated him, but I didn’t want him dead!’

  Lemuel laughed and said, ‘I know you did. Lemuel felt the relief filling you when the monsters went away. He felt it the moment you knew the boy was dead. And he felt how relieved you were that it wasn’t you. There’s no shame in that. It’s the survival instinct, bred into mortals even before you were knuckle-dragging primates. And anyway, haven’t we all wanted to kill someone at some point?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘But you want to kill me, yes?’

  Chaiya sat silently.

  ‘Yes,’ she finally whispered.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said yes! I wish you were dead for what you did. I wish you had died when the Wolves first took us. I wish it had been you instead of that boy. I wish you were dead, you bastard!’

  Lemuel’s laughter echoed from the walls of the deck as Chaiya launched herself from her stool towards Lemuel. She had barely taken her first step when a meaty hand closed around her wrist like a vice. Jambik Sosruko held her fast and shook his head.

  ‘Step. Back,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  ‘Let me go, damn you!’

  ‘Step. Back. Now.’

  ‘Do as he say,’ said Lady Veleda, without looking up from her cards. ‘Be very bad to break circle Rackwulf carved. Be very bad indeed. Magnus wants you to break it. Maybe he can get out then. I not want that. You don’t either, I think.’

  Chaiya looked down and saw her left foot was a finger’s breadth from crossing the outermost line of Rackwulf’s runic carvings.

  ‘Maybe you sit down, yes?’ said Lady Veleda, tapping ash from her cheroot onto the deck. ‘You not talk now, okay?’

  Chaiya nodded and pulled back from the circle, lowering herself gingerly to her seat. ‘You used your powers to force a mother to murder her child,’ she said. ‘What kind of person does that?’

  ‘A person who wanted to live,’ said Lemuel, trying and failing to shrug in his gibbet.

  ‘You not talk, I said,’ snapped Lady Veleda. ‘Sit. Jambik Sosruko will pour us drink from Nagasena’s special pot. It fresh brew I make to calm nerves. Maybe need some now?’

  Yes,’ said Chaiya, letting out a long, tension-filled breath and sinking down onto her stool as the migou lifted the muslin cloth from the tea set.

  The painted ceramic pot and cups were exquisitely made, ringed with heroic tales rendered in thin lines of pale blue around their circumference. They were the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

  Chaiya’s eyes narrowed as the migou lifted something pale and ceramic that had been obscured by the cloth.

  Something familiar, yet out of place.

  ‘What’s that doing here?’ she said.

  Nagasena saw it in the same instant. His eyes widened and his hand flew to the hilt of Aoshun.

  ‘Yasu, what is it?’ asked Promus.

  ‘Get them out of there,’ said Nagasena, turning towards the control room’s exit. ‘Right now.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ demanded Bjarki. ‘What do you see?’

  ‘Throne! How could I have missed it?’ said Nagasena, running for the door.

  ‘Missed what?’

  Nagasena paused and half drew his sword.

  ‘We don’t have one soul-shard aboard the Arethusa,’ he said. ‘We have two.’

  Jambik Sosruko lifted the pale urn that held the ashes of Kallista Eris from Lady Veleda’s table. It looked absurdly small in his giant hands, but he held it as delicately as Lemuel had ever since Kallista’s death. Chaiya hadn’t noticed it on the table, arranged as it was among the other pots.

  ‘Jambik?’ said Lady Veleda. ‘What you doing?’

  The migou looked bewildered to be holding the urn, its heavy brow furrowed and its eyes screwed up in concentration. The synaptic crown buzzed with static.

  His giant head cocked to one side and he nodded slowly.

  Then he smashed the urn with a boulder-like fist.

  Chaiya’s hands flew to her mouth in shock.

  A swirling cloud of glittering dust enveloped Jambik Sosruko. It sparkled like diamond dust in starlight, lingering in the air and coiling about him like a sentient fog.

  The migou’s back arched and it let out a cry of pain as the glittering dust poured itself into him, filling his body with light. Arcs of fire streamed into his eyes and mouth. His whole body seethed as the soul-shard hidden within the urn bonded with a living host.

  ‘Maleficarum!’ yelled Svafnir Rackwulf, leaping forwards with his spear extended. He rammed it into the migou’s belly, but the weapon’s haft bent as reinforced plate and slabbed muscles kept its tip from penetrating.

  Sosruko backhanded the spear aside and pistoned his leg out to hurl Rackwulf across the deck. With a howling roar, Gierlothnir Helblind closed and battered his crux-shield against Jambik Sosruko’s arm.

  The limb went wide. The Wolf pressed inwards, going low.

  His axe came around hard and fast.

  It bit thigh meat, and the migou grunted in pain. Chaiya cried out in fear as Helblind wrenched his blade free in a welter of blood. Jambik Sosruko lashed out at his attacker, but Helblind was already moving.

  He rolled around behind his foe.

  Sosruko made a quarter turn to face him.

  Chaiya scrambled away from the roaring combatants on her haunches, gagging on the bitter taste of blood. The urge to flee, to escape this violence, flooded her limbs with adrenaline.

  Svafnir Rackwulf threw himself back into the fray, his spear held low like a plains hunter facing a leviathan. He yelled a Fenrisian oath before thrusting his weapon up into the fleshy gap at Sosruko’s armpit. The barbed tip plunged into the migou’s body. Rackwulf churned the blade like a lever, and Sosruko bellowed in agony.

  ‘Stop foolishness now!’ shouted Lady Veleda, tiny before the vast bulk of her son.

  The migou paused at the sound of her voice.

  Did a shred of its crushed psyche remember her?

  Helblind took advantage of the creature’s distraction and hammered his axe against the side of its knee. Chaiya heard the sickening sound of shattering bone. Still, the migou did not go down, its nervous system too blunt and rudimentary to acknowledge an injury that should have crippled it.

  Rackwulf ripped his spear from Jambik Sosruko’s body, tearing tendons, shredding muscle and bone as the angled barbs wreaked irreparable damage. Gierlothnir Helblind rapidly sidestepped around to the migou’s rear, and Chaiya yelled a warning as he crossed the rune-carved circle.

  ‘Stop, you’ll–’

  Her words were drowned out as Lemuel bellowed from his gibbet cage and Chaiya’s Prosperine senses, even dulled as they were, felt a surge in aether energy.

  ‘Kill the dwarf bitch,’ roared Lemuel.

  Jambik Sosruko turned and lumbered towards Lady Veleda.

  Helblind and Rackwulf pressed the advantage, their weapons cutting deep into Sosruko’s body as he gave up on defending himself. None of his many mortal wounds were slowing him.

  ‘Told you stop!’ said Lady Veleda, planting herself before Jambik Sosruko and holding a stern hand up before her. Chaiya saw she held a card in her other hand, but its face was turned from her.

  The migou towered over her and Chaiya saw nothing in its eyes that spoke of any love for the woman before it. Jambik Sosruko snatched Lady Veleda from the ground as easily as a child might lift its favourite toy.

  Rackwulf’s spear tip exploded from the migou’s belly.

  A jet of blood sprayed, and where it landed inside the runic circle, it hissed as though the deck were a heated skillet.

  ‘Put me down!’ said Lady Veleda.

  Sosruko howled as the Wolves hacked him to pieces.

  He gave one last roar and swung Lady
Veleda like a club. Her body smashed against Lemuel’s gibbet cage, every bone shattering like glass.

  ‘No!’ screamed Chaiya.

  Lady Veleda fell in a limp, broken heap at the foot of the buckled metal of the cage. Chaiya crawled towards her, knowing she could not help her, but unwilling not to at least try. Smoke rose from the woman’s skin and her eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. Amazingly, she yet lived, holding out the bloodstained card towards Chaiya.

  ‘Daughter of Prospero…’ said Lady Veleda, imploring with the last of her strength. ‘Look. Understand…’

  She saw the image on the card, but had no knowledge of what it represented. She imprinted it on her mind’s eye as it burst into flames and fell to ashes.

  Rackwulf and Helblind stood over the fallen body of Jambik Sosruko. Chaiya closed her eyes and wept, pressing her hands over her ears to block out the wet thuds of blades in flesh.

  She heard metal twist and snap, blaring klaxons. Emergency beacons spun up to bathe the embarkation deck in flashing amber light.

  Chaiya cried out as a surging fire washed over her, a fire that burned colder than anything she had ever known. She let out a misted breath and looked up through tears of grief and pain to see the torn and bloodied metal of the gibbet cage hanging open.

  She heard a roar of agony and rolled onto her side.

  Chaiya opened her eyes, but what she saw made no sense.

  Svafnir Rackwulf was down on his knees, his armour molten and cherry-red. He howled, the flesh on one half of his face bubbling and running like wax.

  Lemuel was holding Gierlothnir Helblind aloft, bearing the giant Wolf’s weight without effort, his right hand buried deep in the warrior’s armoured chest. The cloud of light that had taken Jambik Sosruko now abandoned the migou’s corpse, billowing upwards like golden fire and pouring into Lemuel. The former remembrancer’s flesh bulged and rippled at the reunion of the two soul-shards.

  He unleashed his new-found power into the warrior of Fenris, searing the Wolf to ash and fire within his war-plate. Gierlothnir Helblind loosed one last defiant howl before the aether-fire consumed him.

  Lemuel dropped the blackened shell of Helblind’s armour.

  It came apart in a clatter of smoking debris, dust pouring from its joints and neck.

  Lemuel turned towards her and the searing core of doomed suns burned in his eyes, so bright it seemed they merged into one singular orb.

  ‘I told you I would kill you all,’ said Lemuel.

  Nagasena vaulted the railing and dropped to the deck in a crouch. He already knew he would be too late. The remembrancer towered over the Prosperine woman, his body seething with power. Lady Veleda and the two Wolves lay broken at his feet, and it seemed to Nagasena that two stuttering images flickered in the space occupied by one body.

  Aoshun whispered fully from its sheath, the words of Ultramar glittering along its length. He heard Bjarki moving down the railings behind him, dropping with the grace of a hunting leopard.

  Wailing sirens filled the deck with noise and Nagasena hoped Dio Promus wasn’t about to vent the entire deck to the void. Nagasena had given him that option, but was betting he would hold off making such a hard call until the very last instant.

  ‘Go left,’ roared Bjarki, swiftly overtaking Nagasena.

  He nodded as he ran and widened the gap between himself and the Rune Priest. Despite the enormous bulk of his armour, Bjarki was easily outpacing him.

  The deck was not large, and Nagasena’s pace slowed as the conjoined soul-shards of Magnus turned Lemuel’s gaze upon them. The remembrancer’s face was stretched wide in a rictus mask, the inhuman power filling him too much to bear.

  Even Bjarki’s step faltered as the power within Lemuel took notice of him. Nagasena turned as he heard the blast doors on his right opening. The newly transplanted machine soul of Magos Araxe stomped in, bearing a heavy adamantium pole topped with a serrated capture-collar fashioned from null-metals. Olgyr Widdowsyn ran in after him, followed by the limping figure of Sister Caesaria. The pariah Sister bore her many hurts stoically. She had refused all pain-balms for fear it would blunt her powers to quell the tides of the immaterium.

  We barely captured Magnus before…

  How can we hope to contain him now his power has doubled?

  But there would be no more bloodshed here.

  Lemuel carefully dropped to his knees and laced his hands behind his head.

  ‘I will not fight you,’ he said. ‘I surrender.’

  ‘Surrender?’ roared Bjarki, spinning his frost blade around until its tip was aimed squarely at Lemuel’s heart. ‘You slay two of my men and you think you can surrender?’

  ‘I only killed one,’ said Lemuel, nodding to the groaning Svafnir Rackwulf. ‘That one is still alive, but he won’t be for long if you don’t get him to a medicae.’

  ‘Bödvar…?’ said Nagasena, seeing the urge to strike Lemuel down in Bjarki’s features. The savage heart of Fenris was to the fore, but the greater strength of nobility won out.

  ‘…the one you feed!’ said Bjarki through clenched teeth.

  ‘What?’ said Lemuel.

  ‘Do not talk to it,’ said Sister Caesaria.

  Bjarki flinched at her words and Nagasena saw his top lip curl in distaste at her abrasive psy-dampening powers. The mere proximity of one of the null-Sisters was enough to curb the most powerful psykers.

  But would it be enough to contain the power of a primarch?

  Lemuel groaned and the diffuse light seeping from his skin dimmed as Magos Araxe moved behind him. The capture-collar snapped shut around Lemuel’s neck and he grimaced as the piston-limbs of the magos yanked him to his feet with enough force to draw blood.

  Olgyr Widdowsyn skidded to a halt beside Svafnir Rackwulf and, together with his long spear, lifted him into his arms. The fallen Wolf’s features were in ruins, scorched and dripping from his bones in fatty runnels. Without a word spoken, Widdowsyn bore his wounded brother away.

  ‘We should kill this thing,’ said Caesaria.

  ‘I do not know if such a thing is even possible,’ said Nagasena.

  ‘I can try to find out,’ replied Bjarki.

  ‘Kill him,’ said Chaiya, weeping as she cradled the shattered form of Lady Veleda in her arms. ‘Kill him for all he’s done, for all he’s brought down upon us.’

  ‘Never thought I’d agree with a child of Prospero,’ said Bjarki.

  ‘No,’ said Nagasena, holding up a hand and sinking to one knee. He played out the last moments of the slaughter he’d witnessed from the control room, following the spread of ancient cards lying in a hooked pattern around the fallen seer. Nagasena felt as though he ought to be seeing some significance in the play of the cards and their relationships to one another, but he had no sensitivity for such things.

  Despite that, he remembered exactly how they had fallen.

  And how Lady Veleda had held one just before she died.

  Nagasena looked up from the cards and said to Chaiya, ‘You saw something, didn’t you? What did Lady Veleda’s cards hear?’

  Looking around the sepulchral bridge of the Osiris Panthea, Hathor Maat could clearly see the psychic toll the Black Ship was exacting on its new crew. None of the Thousand Sons had rested since seizing the vessel from Kamiti Sona, and every one of them was paying a heavy price for that.

  Their nightmares were too vivid and too anguished for any of them to risk sleep, and their waking moments were little better. The most powerful among them felt the Black Ship’s grating suppression the most.

  Ignis roamed the command deck like a madman picking at his scabs, repeating endless number sequences of arcane significance and scratching furiously on a broken dataslate. Tolbek sat with his head in his hands on a crew bench at the edge of the bridge, staring vacantly ahead. The Pyrae’s ascendancy was waning, and the tempes
tuous adept’s mind had turned inwards at the loss of his Fellowship’s primacy.

  Ahriman was likely up in the Ocularis Chamber, staring into the Great Ocean in search of guidance and blindly trusting that the shard of their gene-sire within his staff was guiding them true.

  Sanakht, poor loyal Sanakht, sat alone beneath the lectern bearing the Book of Magnus, an obedient hound awaiting its master’s voice. He obsessively polished and sharpened sword blades that could gleam no brighter nor hold a keener edge. Chained at the foot of the lectern, Camille Shivani trembled in the cold of the bridge, her breath misting as she knotted the thin fabric of her robes between her fingers.

  Lucius of the Emperor’s Children paced the deck, grinning as he whistled to himself. He tapped a martial beat on the pommel of his sword, and even Hathor Maat, who knew what the swordsman was doing, found it irritating. Circling in opposition to Lucius was Aforgomon, and the irony of its physical disintegration in opposition to his constant renewal was a source of great amusement to Hathor Maat.

  Alone of the Thousand Sons, he remained unburdened by chronically phlegmatic humours and dark moods, though only he understood the reason why.

  Tolbek likely had an inkling, but had said nothing.

  Hathor Maat’s moment of near discovery had come three days ago. He had emerged from another hold of captives after purging the burgeoning mutations simmering beneath his skin. He’d turned to see Tolbek standing in a weak pool of light a little farther along the corridor. Cold dread seized Hathor Maat’s heart at what the adept of the Pyrae might say or do.

  But Tolbek had simply barged past him, pausing only long enough to glance into the compartment and see the desiccated husks of withered bodies strewn within. Hathor Maat waited for a reaction, but Tolbek said nothing and continued on his way.

  He had no idea what had brought Tolbek below the waterline and had no wish to remind him of their accidental meeting. A mystery, but not one which Hathor Maat cared to unravel.

  Hathor Maat ran a hand over his face, surprised to find he was sweating, even in the chill of the bridge. He risked looking up from his position at the surveyor controls to glance at the warrior of the Emperor’s Children.