by Mike Lee
'Thuriel, you damned fool,' snarled Sar Daviel. 'You've got no idea what you're playing at here. Tell your men to put away their guns right now, or I'll do it for them.' The old knight's scarred hands clenched into fists. He looked entirely ready to make good his threat.
Daviel's scornful tone brought Lord Thuriel out of his chair. 'Mind your tongue when you're speaking to your betters, you old dog,' he warned. 'Or you'll wind up sharing the same cell as this hyper-muscled monstrosity here.'
'Listen to me,' Sar Daviel said, his voice low and insistent. 'Zahariel is here under the terms of parley. Do you understand what that means?'
'Parley?' Thuriel said with a harsh laugh. 'I've had quite enough of your romantic notions of warfare, Daviel. Do you imagine that Luther has suddenly had a change of heart, and wants to negotiate with us? Use your head, man!' He pointed an accusing finger at Zahariel. 'For all we know, he called this parley to draw us into the open so he could kill us!'
'Shut up, Thuriel,' Lord Remiel snapped. The old master's voice was roughened with age, but still bore the same lash of authority he'd wielded at Aldurukh.
'Have your men put away their weapons before Zahariel decides that the parley is void and turns your paranoid suspicions into reality.'
The noble recoiled from the command as though he'd been slapped. The rebel gunmen wavered, casting uncertain glances between the rebel leaders as if unsure who to follow. When Thuriel didn't respond at once, Lady Alera wormed her way between the gunmen and pushed the muzzles of the plasma guns downward.
'Enough of this madness,' she declared. Then, to Zahariel, she said, 'I regret this misunderstanding has occurred, Sar Zahariel. Lord Thuriel and Lord Malchial acted rashly, and without the sanction of the rest of our leadership. In fact,' she continued, shooting an angry glance at the two noblemen, 'they conspired to delay the rest of us so that we couldn't interfere with their treachery.'
'Now, look here,' Malchial said, rising nervously from his chair. 'I never wanted any part of this. Lord Thuriel said—'
'We've heard more than enough of what Lord Thuriel has to say,' Remiel snapped. 'I advise the both of you to hold your tongue from this point forward. At the moment I'm of the opinion you're a bigger threat to our cause than Luther and his minions, and nothing in the terms of parley prevents me from having the both of you shot.'
Remiel's threat ended the confrontation at a stroke. The gunmen withdrew to stand by the doorway behind the rebel leaders, their weapons held at port arms. Malchial went pale and his mouth snapped shut at once. Thuriel held his tongue as well, though his body trembled with barely-contained rage.
Zahariel observed the entire exchange with outward calm, though inwardly his mind reeled at the implications of the scene playing out before him. It had been obvious from the start that the insurgents were very well-informed about Imperial strategy and tactics, but Luther and General Morten had assumed that deserters from the Jaeger regiments were the cause. The truth, Zahariel now realised, was far worse - and called into question many of their assumptions about the rebels and their motives.
'It was you all along,' Zahariel said, his heart sinking with the realization. 'How many years did you pretend to be our brother while you were laying the groundwork for this rebellion? When did you forsake your oaths to the primarch, master? Did it happen the day that Luther returned from the Crusade - or when Jonson passed you over and chose another to become Lord Cypher?'
'It was Jonson's treachery that brought us all to this,' Remiel said. The old master's voice was sharp as drawn steel. 'An oath born from deceit is no oath at all! His lies—'
'Save your breath, my lord,' Sar Daviel said, resting a hand on Remiel's arm. 'It won't do you any good.' The maimed knight let go of the old master and took a step towards Zahariel, his expression stern and unforgiving. 'You called for a parley, and in honour of the old ways we obliged you. What is it you want?'
With an effort, Zahariel tore his gaze away from Remiel and collected his thoughts. He'd rehearsed this conversation in his head a hundred times on the way to the arcology.
'I'm here because of what you said to Luther, just before you got on the shuttle back at Aldurukh.'
Sar Daviel's one good eye narrowed thoughtfully. He gave Zahriel a searching look, and then sudden comprehension dawned across his scarred face. 'You've seen something, haven't you?'
'What's happened?' Remiel said, a note of concern creeping into his voice.
Zahariel hesitated, knowing that he had reached the point of no return. Luther had forbidden him to discuss the matter with anyone, but if he didn't, Caliban was doomed. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed and determination, he told the rebel leaders what he'd found at Sigma Five-One-Seven.
When he was done, Zahariel studied the faces of each rebel leader in turn. Daviel and Master Remiel cast sidelong glances at one another, their expressions grim. Lady Alera and Lord Malchial were pale with shock, while Lord Thuriel's jaw tightened with building outrage.
'What is he talking about?' Thuriel demanded. 'What's this… this taint he keeps referring to?' He took a step towards the two older knights, his hands clenching into fists. 'How long have you been keeping this from us?'
Daviel glared forbiddingly at the angry noble. 'It's none of your concern, Thuriel,' he growled. 'Believe me. The less you know about this, the better.'
'And now you presume to tell me what I have a right to know? You're no better than the damned Imperials!' Thuriel turned to Lady Alera. 'I told you we couldn't trust them!' he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at the old knights. 'Who knows what other secrets they're hiding? For all we know, they might have been working with Luther all along!'
'Thuriel, will you please just shut up,' Lady Alera said, her voice trembling faintly. She pressed a hand to her forehead, and Zahariel could see that she was struggling to come to grips with what she'd been told. 'Can't you see what's at stake here?'
'Of course I can,' Thuriel snarled. 'In fact, I see things a great deal more clearly than you, Alera. I see that the Terrans aren't content with raping our world; now they're feeding our people to monsters. And these two old fools knew it, but kept it to themselves.'
'We knew nothing of the kind, you arrogant, self-centred dolt,' Daviel shot back. 'Master Remiel and I were protecting our people from monsters long before you were born, and don't you forget it.' He jabbed a gnarled finger at the ruined side of his face. 'You want to talk about monsters, boy, you show me the scars you earned fighting them. Otherwise, shut your damned mouth!'
'So that's it, eh? Just shut up and trust you? Like we trusted Luther, and Jonson, and all those vultures from the Administratum?' Thuriel shouted back. His right hand fell to the pistol holstered at his hip. 'Never again, Daviel! You hear me? Never again!'
The nobleman glared at Daviel for a long moment. The knight regarded Thuriel coldly, pointedly folding his arms in the face of the other man's threat. The rebel gunmen at the back of the room fingered their weapons nervously. Before the situation could escalate further, however, Lord Malchial leapt from his chair and gripped Thuriel's left arm.
'Leave it, cousin,' Malchial hissed fearfully. 'Nothing good can come of this.'
Thuriel gritted his teeth in consternation, weighing his options. Finally, he drew his hand away from his weapon.
'For once, Malchial, you may be right,' the nobleman said. Thuriel swept a haughty gaze over the knights, Lady Alera and Zahariel. 'We're finished, do you hear? You'll not get another coin from me to finance your little games of deception. I'll find another way to set our people free from the likes of Jonson and his ilk. See if I won't.' He turned and stormed from the room, with a nervous Malchial close behind.
'Damn that Malchial,' Sar Daviel said as the door slammed shut behind them. 'Another moment more and Thuriel would have done something foolish. Then we could have been rid of the both of them.'
Zahariel frowned. 'Was it wise to let them go?' he asked.
'You'd rather he were here, using up g
ood air?' Alera said disgustedly. She waved her hand in dismissal. 'Thuriel provides us with money and outrage, and not much else. He doesn't have any real support inside the movement. Let him go. We've got much more important things to worry about.'
Sar Daviel looked to Remiel. 'Things are far worse than we feared,' he said gravely.
Remiel nodded, but he continued to stare searchingly at Zahariel. 'Why have you told us this?' he asked his old pupil.
'Because we're running out of time,' Zahariel replied. 'We've got to stop the Terrans before they unleash their master ritual, but if we send in a major force of Astartes to search for them we risk drawing the attention of the Administratum.'
'Who wouldn't hesitate to condemn the planet - and its people - if they learned the truth,' Remiel concluded.
'Condemn?' Alera said. 'What does that mean?'
'The Imperium views warp taint as… a cancer, if you will. A tumour on the human soul,' Remiel said. 'Not without reason, of course. No sane person wants to see a return of Old Night. But the problem here is that Caliban's taint runs deeper than just a handful of debased individuals; it permeates the very bedrock of the world.'
'Then how does one go about curing it?' she said, her voice rising with exasperation.
The old master sighed. 'With fire. What else?' He eyed Zahariel coldly. 'The Imperium would relocate the Legion and as many of its loyal servants as it could. Perhaps a few hundred thousand could be saved. The rest…'
'That's why this must be kept secret,' Zahariel said calmly. His eyes never left Remiel's.
The old master's eyebrows rose. 'That sounds like something very close to rebellion, young Zahariel.'
The Librarian shook his head. 'Luther and I swore an oath to protect the people of Caliban, long before the coming of the Emperor,' he replied. 'As did you.'
Sar Daviel nodded slowly. 'All right,' he said. 'What do you want from us?'
'A truce,' Zahariel said simply. 'Help us find the Terrans quickly and quietly, and we'll send in a kill-team to eliminate them.'
Alera shook her head. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'Leave these sorcerers to us. We can take care of them.'
'Would that were so, Lady Alera,' Remiel said heavily. 'But Zahariel is right. Our people are no match for these creatures. This is a task for the Astartes.'
'But we don't even know for certain that these sorcerers are here,' Alera protested. 'A truce at this point benefits the Imperials, not us! Their control of the arcology is balanced on a knife edge; if we give them time to catch their breath, bring in more reinforcements…' the noblewoman's voice trailed away as she watched a wordless exchange pass between Remiel and Sar Daviel.
'There's something else, isn't there?' she asked.
Daviel nodded. 'We didn't tell you before for reasons of security,' he said gravely. 'But we've lost contact with a number of our sub-level cells over the last two weeks.'
'How many cells?' Alera demanded.
'Fourteen,' Remiel answered. 'Possibly as many as sixteen. Two others missed their last scheduled report this morning, but that could be the result of equipment failure.'
The news sent a jolt down Zahariel's spine. 'How many cells do you have in the sub-levels?'
Daviel shifted uncomfortably. 'A significant number,' he said. 'The Jaegers don't have the manpower to penetrate much beyond sub-level two, so we keep our combat teams on the lowest sub-levels between raids.'
'How many men have you lost so far?' Zahariel pressed. 'Tell me!'
'One hundred and thirty-two,' the maimed knight answered. 'All of them well-trained and well-equipped, and all of them lost without so much as a single vox transmission. Frankly, we were starting to suspect that you'd sent Astartes teams into the sub-levels to root us out.'
Zahariel shook his head. 'It's begun,' he said. 'They're gathering bodies, just like they did at Sigma Five-One-Seven.'
Alera's face twisted in a bitter grimace. 'As though the Terrans would have a hard time finding corpses in that charnel house.'
'Charnel house?' Zahariel echoed. 'What do you mean?'
Lady Alera stared open-mouthed at the Astartes. 'Don't pretend you don't know,' she said, her eyes blazing angrily.
Zahariel held up a hand. 'On my honour, lady, I have no idea what you're talking about.'
'Then who is responsible for the atrocities committed in your name?' she said coldly. 'Five million people, crammed into three levels built to hold a quarter of that number. No power, intermittent supplies of food and water, no functioning sanitation… What did you think was going to happen? People are dying by the hundreds every day. The bodies are tossed down maintenance shafts or piled in lifts and sent to the lower levels, so the survivors don't have to live among the corpses.'
The news stunned Zahariel. 'This wasn't reported back to us at Aldurukh,' he said, his voice choked with outrage. 'Is there any way to know how many have died?'
Remiel shook his head. 'Tens of thousands, son. Perhaps more.'
Zahariel nodded thoughtfully. 'The Terrans knew. That's why they returned to the arcology.' He looked to Remiel. 'The incident at Sigma Five-One-Seven was a field test,' he said, like a pupil solving a problem for his tutor. 'They needed to refine the ritual, test its effects on a smaller scale before unleashing it here.' An image came to him, of an army of animated bodies shambling and crawling up out of the depths to slaughter the millions penned like sheep in the sub-levels above.
'There's no time to waste,' he said. 'If there's another outbreak of violence here, the Terrans will have all the psychic energy they need to begin a large-scale ritual. We've got to find them before it's too late.' Zahariel stepped forward, holding out his empty hand to the rebels. 'Will you agree to the truce?'
Alera and Sar Daviel looked to Remiel. The old master stared at Zahariel's open hand for a long moment, a tormented look on his face. Finally, he straightened and looked his former student in the eye.
'For the pact to be binding, it must be sworn by both leaders,' he said sternly. 'If Luther gives me his hand, then I shall take it. Until then, we can have no truce between us.'
'Then come back with me to Aldurukh,' Zahariel said, his voice taut. 'We can be back at the fortress in two hours.'
Remiel's eyes narrowed. 'Are you so certain he will agree to this?'
'Of course,' Zahariel replied, putting more sincerity into his voice than he actually felt. 'Do you imagine Caliban's greatest living knight would hold his honour so cheaply?'
If Remiel sensed the doubt in Zahariel's heart he did not let it show. 'Very well,' he said with a curt nod. 'Sar Daviel will join us to help coordinate our forces.' He turned to Lady Alera. 'Alert our remaining cells and organise a search of the sub-levels at once. If you locate the Terrans, do not attempt to engage them. Do you understand?'
Alera nodded. On impulse, she reached out and laid her hands on Remiel's own. 'Are you sure of this?' she asked. 'You swore you'd never return to the fortress. You said they'd betrayed everything you believed in. How can you trust them now?'
Remiel sighed. 'This isn't about trust,' he said to her. 'It's about honour, and a last chance at redemption. I owe it to them, Alera. I owe it to myself.' He gently pushed her hands away.
'Now go. Zahariel is right. We haven't much time.' He smiled. 'I will return with the knights of Caliban at my back, or I will not return at all.'
SEVENTEEN
Fire from the Sky
Diamat
In the 200th year of the Emperor's Great Crusade
Las-bolts hissed past Nemiel as he plunged down onto Magos Archoi and the rebel soldiers. His bolt pistol thundered, and two of the officers collapsed with gaping wounds blown in their chests. Archoi fell back from the Redemptor's attack, screeching in binaric, and his acolytes rushed forward, drawing high-powered laspistols from their belts.
Nemiel struck down another of the rebels with a crackling swipe of his crozius. A las-bolt struck the side of his helmet like a hammerblow, causing his visual displays to waver, and a warn
ing icon told him that the helm's integrity had been compromised. He shot the officer point-blank, blowing him off his feet - and then felt a hail of blows as the acolytes unleashed a volley of pistol shots into his chest.
The acolytes were blurs of motion, their muscles undoubtedly stoked by combat drugs and adrenal boosters. Nemiel felt a half-dozen bolts pummel his breastplate, then a flash of searing pain over his primary heart. For a moment his vision threatened to grey out as his body fought to stave off the effects of shock, then abruptly the pain vanished and his mind cleared with a cold rush as his suit dumped pain blockers and stimulants into his bloodstream.
A boltgun let off a rapid burst over Nemiel's shoulder and one of the acolytes fell in a spray of blood and fluids. The Redemptor shot the remaining acolyte twice, and finished him off with a backhanded blow of his crozius. He was leaping forward before the traitor's body had hit the floor, racing down the narrow aisle after the fleeing form of Magos Archoi.
Brother-Sergeant Kohl ran alongside Nemiel from high atop the siege gun's hull, firing shots from his bolt pistol at every tech-adept who got in his path. Behind Nemiel, Marthes crouched atop the vehicle and fired another blast up at the skitarii who were firing down from the gantry-way they had just vacated. The catwalk blew apart in a storm of molten fragments, plunging the survivors to the permacrete floor two storeys below. Techmarine Askelon landed heavily on the permacrete floor, pushing onward despite his suit's heavily damaged systems. Vardus and Ephrial brought up the rear, cutting down any soldier or tech-adept who tried to circle behind the squad.
Nemiel bore down on the magos like a Calibanite Lion, his lips pulling back in a feral snarl. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure the traitor felt the Emperor's justice. Behind and above him, he heard Kohl shout a warning just as the Praetorians charged at him from the gap between two of the parked siege guns.
The shout saved his life. Nemiel turned towards the sound and ducked low, barely avoiding a swinging power claw that would have torn his head off. A second Praetorian lunged at him, scoring a deep gouge across his hip with a glowing power knife. Nemiel brought his crozius down on the skitarii's knife hand, smashing the weapon from the warrior's grip, and pumped three rounds into the Praetorian's chest. The warrior staggered as the rounds punched through his armour, but his chemically-charged nervous system kept him upright.