The man tries to speak, but his words are muffled by the blood welling up in his mouth.
Halser crouches down next to him and raises him into a sitting position. ‘What did you say?’
The wounded man spits a gobbet of blood onto his chest and tries again. ‘Stay away. Stay away from the prophet,’ he gurgles, before being wracked by a terrible cough that dislodges even more blood.
‘What?’ asks Halser, looking anxiously at the slumped form of Comus, lying a couple of metres away. ‘What prophet? Who are you talking about?’
‘Astraeus,’ he gasps, grasping Halser by the shoulders. ‘You must allow him to complete his trials. You must not ruin his great work.’
‘Astraeus?’ Halser shakes his head. ‘What great work?’
The man pulls himself closer and Halser has the unnerving sensation that he is looking at him through the crystal star. As he turns his head from side to side, the failing light refracts through the prism to reveal the grey, knotted brain beneath. ‘Ilissus is just the beginning. He will purge the entire galaxy.’ He turns towards the columns of rock that have enveloped the Chaos Marines. ‘The elements are now his to command. Soon, the Dark Powers will learn to crawl. The Great Enemy will grovel before him like a cur.’ The man’s voice grows shrill. ‘But you must leave Ilissus! You will ruin everything–’
The man stiffens and lets out a hoarse croak as a smouldering hole appears in his chest. Blood fountains from his nose and he slumps back in the sergeant’s arms.
Halser drops him and whirls around.
‘Filthy idolator,’ hisses Pylcrafte, lowering his laspistol and withdrawing his optical cables back into his hood.
Halser leaps to his feet and grabs Inquisitor Mortmain’s acolyte by the throat, lifting him up from the ground and slamming him against the shattered wall. ‘You do not make the decisions here!’ His words are so loud that they emerge from his helmet as a distorted blast of noise.
Pylcrafte whines with a mixture of terror and outrage. ‘This planet is damned! We cannot preserve the life of transgressors! The unsparing severity of the Emperor’s wrath must be as swift as a–’
His words end in an explosion of air as Halser slams Pylcrafte onto the ground and aims his pistol at his undulating hood. ‘Silence!’ he howls, his whole body trembling with anger.
Pylcrafte looks up at the circle of Space Marines who have gathered around him. Every one of them has levelled a weapon at him. He mutters under his breath but says nothing more.
Halser looses him and turns away, waving his men over to the fallen Librarian. ‘Comus,’ he says, kneeling down beside him. ‘Are you shot?’
The Librarian shakes his head and grimaces at the clouds undulating over their heads. ‘No, I can continue.’ He nods at the dead stranger. ‘I’m starting to understand. The pilgrims never left Ilissus. They never died. They are still here, after all these centuries, but their worship has become confused.’ He waves at the clouds again. ‘The prophet he mentioned is somehow connected to all this. He is the one who has doomed Ilissus.’ He clutches his head and groans in pain and confusion. ‘But he is not a follower of the Ruinous Powers.’
Pylcrafte cannot hold his tongue. ‘Then why have they defiled a shrine of the Immortal Emperor! What does it matter who their leader is? They are the worst kind of–’
At a nod from Halser, one of the Relictors steps forwards and clamps a gauntleted hand over Pylcrafte’s face.
‘Whoever this prophet is, we are very close to him,’ continues Comus as he sits up and looks around the courtyard. ‘Either by chance or his design we have stumbled across one of the routes to his home.’ He taps his finger against the small leather-bound book. ‘According to the libellus, if we find the Zeuxis Scriptorium, we will find the prophet.’
Halser turns to look through the ruined walls of the tower. The sinking sun flashes crimson across the visor of his helmet. ‘Come nightfall, Mortmain will begin the orbital bombardment. We have less than four hours left to find the scriptorium.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Brother Silvius and the others must manage without us.’
Comus shakes his head as Halser helps him to his feet. ‘But what really is the use in finding the scriptorium, without any guidance from the Domitus?’
There is a hiss of escaping air as Halser removes his helmet. His brutal features are as red as the sky. ‘This is our last chance, Comus, don’t you understand? Mortmain is our only friend and our enemies are legion. We have to convince them all. We have to show them that our willingness to learn is not heresy, but the Imperium’s last hope. We have the courage to go where the other Chapters will not. We are the only ones who–’
‘You do not have to explain any of this to me,’ interrupts the Librarian with a look of disbelief. He leads Halser a few paces away from the others and speaks in an urgent whisper. ‘But how will we get off the planet before Mortmain begins dropping his bombs? If we cannot navigate the clouds, how will we make it off the planet alive? We have four hours left. Perhaps we should return to the gunship and see if we can help the tech-priests?’
A network of throbbing veins spreads across Halser’s face and he hisses through gritted teeth. ‘If we return empty handed we are dead anyway. You remember Captain Asamon’s orders: find a weapon powerful enough to cleanse every world in the system. Only if the Inquisition sees our true potential will we have any hope of redemption. If we return now, with nothing, the Relictors are doomed. Every last one of us.’ He clutches his hands together as though praying. ‘But if we can show the strength of our faith, show them that we can wield even the most powerful artefacts, they will have to accept us once more as true servants of the Emperor.’ As the sergeant looks around at the shattered tower there is an edge of mania to his voice. ‘And anyway, what use do you think it would be returning to the gunship?’ He waves at the dust clouds. ‘We have no signal. How would we fly? I doubt we would make ten kilometres before hitting a mountain.’
Comus narrows his eyes, unnerved by the sergeant’s odd tone, but he cannot deny his logic. It was a miracle that they managed to land as well as they did. And since then the weather has become even more violent.
Halser pounds his chest armour. ‘We’re not done yet, Comus. I will not allow it!’ He stamps one of his boots on the ground, surrounding them both in a cloud of dust. ‘The Zeuxis Scriptorium is the best known of Ilissus’s reliquaries. Think what treasures might be there.’ He nods at the bloodstained flagstones. ‘And you say it is also the source of all this,’ he waves at the sky, ‘sorcery. Why should we head back to the gunship without at least investigating this so-called prophet? I do not doubt he is a charlatan, but who knows what kinds of artefacts he is hoarding. Alone, without any Imperial support, he has outwitted the Black Legion. Think what that might mean! He has surrounded the whole planet with clouds that turn men to stone. How could he achieve such things? Perhaps by harnessing a forbidden text? Perhaps by uncovering a relic from the days when the Emperor Himself walked here?’
Comus shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand. You want us to head towards the man who has corrupted the whole planet?’
‘Why not?’ Halser’s voice is a ragged snarl. ‘By the Throne, Comus, can’t you see? Maybe we are doomed, but at least we might end our days covered in glory. At least we might put an end to whatever monster is plaguing this wretched planet. And perhaps…’ A trace of smile appears on his face. ‘Perhaps we could find something that truly makes the trip worthwhile.’
The Librarian turns to look at the other Space Marines. They are waiting patiently for orders, as proud and noble as ever. He sighs and shakes his head. They do not deserve to die in Mortmain’s firestorm, but he knows Halser is right: they are doomed anyway. For decades now, the Inquisition has been working towards their destruction. Perhaps this would be a more fitting end: death in battle, at the hands of the Imperium’s foes, rather than excommunication and disgrace at the hands of a shadowy cabal. He looks back at the sergeant and falls quiet, unsure what to say
. All the options seem black. Then he looks into Halser’s eyes and sees how fiercely they are burning. If they have any hope at all, he decides, it is here – in the fury of Sergeant Halser.
Comus takes out the strange little book and attaches another cable to it. The others wait patiently as he prays. Even Pylcrafte ceases his struggles.
‘I see another group of towers,’ says the Librarian in a hoarse voice. ‘Two kilometres south of this one. They are on the exact location of the underground temple network that once housed various scriptoria, including Zeuxis. If we can make it that far, I believe we will find the man who is in control of Ilissus. What we would do then, I cannot imagine.’
Halser grabs the Librarian by both arms. ‘Have faith, Comus.’ He looks south and watches the spirals of wind, whipping across the desolate landscape. ‘We will be heroes again, I promise you.’
Chapter Eight
Inquisitor Mortmain picks his way through chunks of glowing metal and smouldering flesh. The space where the interrogation chamber once stood is now a blackened wound. The blast was so fierce that several walls have buckled and fallen, creating an oddly liquid scene: girders, doors and coving lie draped over each other in a surreal slump of melted steel and shattered stone. Mortmain wrinkles his nose in distaste; the air is thick with the smell of charred meat. ‘Oh, Palchus,’ he breathes, kneeling to examine a pile of ash, ‘What did you do?’
A towering figure watches from the darkness: a hulking giant, clad in gleaming bare ceramite. As he steps closer, the light of Mortmain’s torch washes across the giant’s power armour, revealing rows of intricate letters engraved into every available space. When he speaks, his voice peals from his helmet like a sword being drawn. ‘Does it live?’
The inquisitor lifts a piece of broken chain from the rubble and holds it to his chest, muttering a prayer. ‘Emperor save us, Justicar Lyctus, it might.’ He looks up at the silver-clad Space Marine and shakes his head. ‘I’ve been a fool. Cerbalus must have seen this coming. Whatever the Navigator used to do this has broken the wards and bonds we used to bind the daemon. If it managed to latch on to any other living thing, it will now be loose on the Domitus.’ He rises and turns to face the Space Marine looming over him, his face utterly drained of colour. ‘Cerbalus knows everything. It knows that Ilissus is on the verge of plunging the whole sector into madness. If it lives, it will attempt to stop the Exterminatus.’
Justicar Lyctus seems unimpressed by the urgency in Mortmain’s voice. His glittering gauntlets remain draped calmly over the hilt of his halberd; if not for the faint light, flickering across the weapon’s blade, Lyctus could be mistaken for a statue. ‘What do you intend to do, inquisitor?’ he asks, in the same ringing tones.
Mortmain clutches his shaven scalp in both hands and mutters another curse. ‘I have no choice.’ He looks out through a misshapen viewport at the wraith-like planet below. ‘I can wait no longer. Baron van Tol’s wretched secrets will have to wait. I must destroy Ilissus now.’ He looks back at the Space Marine and shakes his head in disbelief. ‘Damn it all. If Cerbalus lives, I may already be too late. It will tear the Domitus apart.’ He looks past Justicar Lyctus into the shattered remains of the corridor. The light of his torch reveals more glittering, statuesque figures. ‘You and your squad must do what you can.’ Mortmain places a hand on the cover of a metal book, hung around the Space Marine’s cuirass. ‘I will pray for you.’
Lyctus nods and envelops the inquisitor’s hand in his own massive, silver gauntlet. ‘If it lives, we will bring it to heel, Inquisitor Mortmain.’
Mortmain shakes his head and withdraws his hand. ‘No, you will not, justicar. Not this one. Even you will be unable to destroy a horror such as Cerbalus.’
There is a hint of emotion in the Space Marine’s reply that is either disbelief or injured pride. ‘Then what are you asking?’
Mortmain looks up at him. ‘If Cerbalus is free, we are already dead. But Ilissus must still be destroyed. Too much is at stake.’ He looks out at the planet again. ‘You must buy me whatever time you can. Find Cerbalus and throw yourself against it with all the fury you can muster. You cannot win against such a being, but you must try anyway. If you can keep the thing at bay long enough, I will be able to begin the bombardment of Ilissus.’
‘And what about Sergeant Halser?’
Mortmain lowers his head. ‘I will pray for him too.’
Chapter Nine
Baron Cornelius van Tol stumbles awkwardly to the door of his chamber, clumsy with fear. The dry, ironic tone is entirely absent from his voice as he calls for his guards. ‘Something is approaching,’ he cries as ranks of soldiers, wearing peaked caps and epaulettes, hurry towards him. ‘The inquisitor has sent some kind of…’ His words trail off and he seems unsure how to continue. He shakes his head. ‘No, not Mortmain, this is something else. Something worse. Man the doors!’
Rows of polished lasguns line the passageway as he emerges, peering anxiously into the dark. ‘Something is on the ship,’ he mutters, drawing a gold-plated pistol and training it on the rippling shadows. ‘The Domitus has been breached.’
A captain arrives, hastily fastening the collar of his uniform as he bows to the baron. ‘My lord, what has happened?’
Van Tol looks back at him, his eyes wild with fear. ‘Thayer. Didn’t you hear the explosion?’
The officer’s aristocratic features are identical to the baron’s, and as he sees van Tol’s fear his skin pales to the same shade of grey. He has never seen the baron show such emotion before. ‘I heard a noise, uncle, but I assumed it was just an engine fault. The Domitus is as ancient as the stars. Perhaps it was just–’
‘Palchus is dead!’ whispers the baron, clutching the officer by the shoulder. ‘I can feel his absence.’
‘Dead?’ Thayer’s mouth drops open. ‘How? Was it the inquisitor?’
The baron shakes his head and looks back at the darkened corridor. The night sights attached to his men’s guns send flickering red lines across the vaulted masonry, creating an unnerving sense of movement. ‘No. This is not Mortmain’s doing. Why would he attack his own flagship?’ He lowers his voice and pulls his nephew closer. ‘I can see something.’ He taps the front of his cap. ‘It’s as though the immaterium has come after us and breached the hull.’ He shakes his head in disbelief and looks at the floor. ‘Palchus is dead.’
Captain Thayer frowns. ‘The warp has entered the ship? What do you mean? How could that happen now? We’re in real space.’
The baron gives a vague nod and starts to reply, but his words are lost beneath the whining screech of las-fire.
The two officers turn to find that the corridor has erupted with crackling energy as the soldiers fire wildly into the darkness.
They both raise their pistols and crouch next to the other soldiers.
‘What is it?’ cries the baron to the man next to him, struggling to be heard over the noise. ‘What did you see?’
The soldier shakes his head, clearly terrified. ‘I saw nothing,’ he admits, ‘but the others–’
‘Hold your fire!’ cries the baron, realising that his men are jumping at shadows, infected by his panic.
The shots continue for a few more seconds, until the baron manages to make himself heard. Then, one by one, the soldiers lower their guns and look towards him.
‘My lord,’ cries a man at the front of the group. ‘There was something there. I couldn’t see exactly, but it was moving quickly.’
‘And what if it was one of our own sentries?’ asks the baron, rising to his feet and peering into the dark.
The soldier’s mouth flaps wordlessly as he fails to think of a suitable answer.
‘Perhaps you should go and see what you’ve been incinerating?’ The baron’s voice is sharp with grief. ‘If you’re so certain you saw something.’
The soldier’s eyes widen in fear. Then he regains a semblance of self-control and rises to his feet, adjusting his cap and giving a stiff salute before stepping away f
rom the rest of the men. He keeps his lasgun levelled at the oily shadows as he edges forwards. The others watch in anxious silence as he approaches a gloom-shrouded fork in the passageway.
‘I might have been mistaken,’ says the soldier, looking up and down the corridors. He peers down the barrel of his gun, scoping the shadows for movement, but sees nothing. The relief on his face is visible, even in the half-light. Then his eyes narrow as he spots a darker shadow slip across the floor towards him. He mutters something, but the words are too quiet for the others to hear.
‘What was that?’ calls Captain Thayer, leaning around his uncle for a better look.
‘Nothing,’ replies the soldier, raising his voice. ‘I think it’s just a rat.’
‘A rat?’ Thayer looks at his uncle in disbelief.
‘That’s not it,’ hisses the baron, fixing Captain Thayer with a wild stare. ‘There is something out there.’
‘Kaleb?’ cries one of the soldiers. ‘What’s the matter?’
The baron and the captain look back down the corridor and see that the soldier has started acting strangely. His body has been gripped by some kind of spasm. ‘A rat!’ he cries in an odd-sounding voice. The words sound as though they are echoing in a vast cavern and as he cries out again the sound draws out into a long, rolling bellow.
‘Kaleb?’ calls out another voice, but the soldier’s fit is growing rapidly worse. His head is jerking from side to side, spraying spit and curses as his legs collapse beneath him.
A few of the soldiers start moving towards him, but the baron halts them with a barked order: ‘Halt! Hold your positions, damn you!’
The soldiers’ desire to aid their fallen comrade is short-lived. As they watch in horror, his flesh starts to ripple and bulge, like a sheet caught in the wind.
‘I knew it,’ breathes the baron as the soldier’s arms and legs begin to elongate, forming a teetering, arachnid frenzy of limbs, lashing violently back and forth across the stone floor and filling the air with a horrible, wet thumping sound.
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