by Andy Clark
‘Luk!’ cried Danial in outrage, starting forward. ‘Markos, what did you do?’
‘What did I do?’ bellowed the herald, veins standing out on his temples. ‘What did I bloody well do? What about these traitors? What about the oh-so-bloody-noble House Chimaeros, eh?’ Markos gave Luk a hard shove, and the Chimaeros Knight fell to his knees in the dust. He did not resist.
‘If anyone here should be answering to anyone it’s him!’ roared Markos, ripping his draconblade free of its scabbard and pressing it to Luk’s throat. ‘Go on, traitor! Tell us! How long did your heretic of a father have this planned? How did he do it? Why did he do it?’
Luk stared straight ahead, his expression empty. Blood from his nose dripped slowly into the dust. A crowd was gathering, the remaining Knights scowling angrily and murmuring in agreement with Markos.
‘Come on, you piece of rubbish, speak! I trained you, boy. I trusted you. You owe me an explanation, at least.’
‘I’ve got to stop this,’ muttered Danial to Jennika. ‘Sire Markos,’ he said, taking a step forward. ‘Luk’s not a traitor.’
Markos rounded on Danial, his face red with rage.
‘The High King is dead! Tolwyn was killed by these traitorous dogs, and you’re trying to defend the son of the honourless bastard responsible! You know nothing of it, boy, and you dishonour your father’s memory with your weak drivel!’
Danial recoiled, his squire’s fear of the discipline master still instinctive. Not so Jennika.
‘Sire Markos Dar Draconis!’ she barked, her voice ice and steel. ‘You forget yourself! If anyone is bringing dishonour to our father it is you. We are all angry. We are all betrayed. But no one else is acting like a wild beast!’
The herald looked as though he had been slapped. He faltered, and the angry murmurs around the circle were silenced as quickly as they had begun.
‘Now,’ said Jennika, in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘You will sheathe your blade, sire, and we will speak to this noble prisoner as the Code Chivalric dictates. Unless you would like to compound your dishonour by striking an unarmed captive again?’
‘No,’ muttered Markos grudgingly, his expression thunderous. ‘No, of course not, milady. My apologies.’
‘It is a difficult time,’ replied Jennika graciously. Despite her sweat-stained bodyglove, her warrior tattoos and her livid bruises, the Lady Tan Draconis seemed, at that moment, every inch the capable aristocrat. Danial envied her that.
‘Danial,’ she said, gesturing him forward. ‘He is yours to interrogate, brother.’
Danial stepped back into the circle, resisting casting a nervous glance at Sire Markos. The herald’s anger was not done yet, he could feel it. He was conscious of the Sacristans moving up to join the throng. The survivors of Houses Pegasson and Minotos had gathered too, Grandmarshal Gustev among them. He was held up by one of his Knights, half his face a mask of dried blood. Amid the stab-lighting and the dust, all eyes were on Danial and his friend, knelt before him on the cold stone floor.
‘Luk,’ Danial began. Luk didn’t respond.
‘Luk Tan Chimaeros,’ said Danial, louder, growing angry himself. ‘Did you know about this treachery? Tell me you weren’t a part of it.’
Luk looked up at him, but there was no recognition in his dead-eyed stare.
‘I wasn’t,’ he said dully. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘That’s a bloody lie!’ cried Markos. ‘He’s Gerraint’s only son, for Throne’s sakes. How could he not know?’
‘They fired at me,’ replied Luk. ‘They tried to kill me. You saw that Danial, Jen, and you, Sire Markos. That Wyvorn Knight would have finished me off.’
‘A fine way to win our trust, eh?’ sneered Sire Garath. ‘Pretend they’re trying to kill you, worm your way back in, then when the moment’s right, strike.’
Danial’s mind whirled. Could his friend really be a traitor? But how could he not have known?
‘There must be some way to tell for sure,’ he said. ‘I don’t want this to be true, but Luk, if you were part of this…’
‘My own father tried to kill me!’ shouted Luk, suddenly furious. He surged to his feet, only for Markos to kick him back down. The herald’s blade returned to Luk’s neck, unwavering.
‘Try that again,’ growled Markos. ‘Please.’
Luk subsided, morose again.
‘I knew nothing of any betrayal. I didn’t know that my father had cast aside his honour, or made a pact with those traitors. He is a pawn of Chaos now. A heretic. If I see him again, I’ll kill him myself. Would that be proof enough?’
‘You must have seen something,’ said Danial, thinking fast. ‘Even if you didn’t recognise it. Come on, Luk! Emperor’s blood, you can’t have been part of this.’
‘The scrapcode,’ said Luk suddenly, blinking. ‘You all saw the way they fought out there. The scrapcode wasn’t affecting them, but it struck me just like it did all of you.’
‘Another lie,’ said Sire Markos. ‘We’re wasting time with this traitor.’
‘That is a misapprehension,’ replied High Sacristan Polluxis. ‘During the battle, me and my acolytes gathered substantial data regarding the infernal scrapcode conjured by the enemy. Our cogitator units are currently processing and analysing its nature to better understand this weapon of the enemy. Once we comprehend it, I believe that, with the Omnissiah’s blessings, we will be able to bypass its influence and restore long-range vox communications with other loyalist forces.’
‘That is good to hear,’ said Danial, frowning. ‘But what relevance does it have here?’
‘Part of our interrogative process involved conducting an auto-séance with the machine-spirit of each loyalist Knight to determine the detrimental effects that the enemy code had upon its systems. Luk Tan Chimaeros is telling the truth in this – his steed was affected in the same fashion that yours were, honoured sires. A reasonable extrapolation would be that a warding agent was applied to the traitor Knights prior to the battle, but was withheld from Luk Tan Chimaeros’ steed.’
‘The baptism,’ said Jennika. ‘Da, that unguent we saw them applying to their Knights.’
‘That must have been it,’ agreed Danial, feeling something unlock in his chest at the thought that Luk might be telling the truth. His friend’s expression was thunderous, however.
‘Those bastards,’ he breathed.
‘It’s proof enough for me,’ said Sire Olric, and Danial found himself nodding in agreement. The Knights of Draconis, Minotos and Pegasson looked at one another. Markos’ face was still dark, and a few of the older Draconis Knights like Sire Garath looked the same. They had lost a lot of valued comrades in the betrayal, and their Throne-given sense of honour was set deep in their bones. Those men needed someone to blame, someone to strike out at for what had occurred. Even proof might not be enough to keep Luk from further trouble. But the majority, the kingsward could see, were convinced. Heads nodded. Frowns softened. It was one of the four surviving Knights Pegasson, Lady Eleanat, who spoke for the assemblage.
‘It seems that Luk Tan Chimaeros is indeed the last loyal son of his House, and for that we must be thankful. We need every loyal Knight we can find in this dark hour. Danial Tan Draconis, we of House Pegasson are sorry for the loss of your father in this terrible time.’
Danial took a breath and nodded his thanks.
‘And I am sorry for yours, my lady. The slain shall be avenged, for now we stand together.’
He extended his hand to Luk. The Chimaeros Knight looked at it for a moment as though he didn’t know what it was, then he gripped Danial’s wrist and allowed his friend to pull him to his feet.
‘Right,’ said Markos bitterly. ‘Since that matter seems to have been decided, let us hope we can resolve all our other woes as easily. For instance, there’s the question of what we do now?’
‘We send out sentries,’ said Jennika firmly, ‘as my brother said. For that we need the Cadians – they have the numbers we lack, and far greater
skill in fighting on foot. We can hardly stand guard in our Knights and not expect to be swiftly discovered.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Lady Eleanat, ‘we might attend to that duty?’
‘Thank you,’ said Danial, well aware of House Pegasson’s reputation as diplomats. ‘I think we would all appreciate that very much.’
‘I’ll go with them,’ said Grandmarshal Gustev, shooing away his attendant and standing, albeit unsteadily, without aid. ‘Talk to their commanding officer as equals, eh?’ Danial winced at the grandmarshal’s lack of tact, but he could see the sense of what Gustev said. Any envoy to the Cadians needed to include a suitably senior figure to speak for the Adrastapolians with authority.
‘Very well, grandmarshal,’ he said. ‘Our thanks. Please do this as soon as our counsel has ended.’
‘And what of our Knights?’ asked Sylvest Dar Draconis, brother to Suset Dar Draconis. Of an age with Danial, the young Knight was taller than the kingsward but also rangier, and his youthful features were currently pale with worry. ‘If the traitors come back and our steeds are too damaged to fight…’
‘That will not be a concern,’ interrupted High Sacristan Polluxis. ‘My acolytes and I will begin full repair work upon your Knights immediately. We have sufficient Crawlers remaining to restore all but the most severely damaged Knights to full panoply. I cogitate no more than a day sidereal to effect all the repairs that we can.’
‘You should keep working on the enemy code, too,’ said Suset Dar Draconis. Short and full-figured where Sylvest was tall and gangling, Suset’s lively eyes and serious face reflected none of her brother’s nerves. ‘Perhaps we can understand it?’
‘That matter is already in hand, Suset Dar Draconis,’ said Polluxis, ‘and is our concern, not yours.’
‘Patch up matters with the common soldiery, set a watch, repair the Knights,’ listed off Sire Markos. ‘All solid, sensible moves. All easy, too. What about the hard part? What do we do to strike back?’ He strode into the middle of the circle of gathered Knights, and looked around at them all. The fires of anger burned behind his eyes still, the need to fight, to regain control. ‘Our honour lies trampled in the dirt amidst the bodies of our dead,’ continued Sire Markos. ‘Our allies have become our enemies and beaten us into a coward’s retreat. Shall we simply hide while they enjoy their victory feasts?’
Angry murmurs and oaths echoed his words.
‘We can’t just hide down here and leave those insults unanswered,’ growled the herald. ‘We won’t let all those deaths go unavenged.’
‘The insults, the deaths, our dishonour, all of it will be avenged,’ said Jennika. ‘But you heard Polluxis – at the moment we can’t even cut through the enemy’s interference to re-establish vox with our comrades. For all we know, we may be the last living Imperial servants on Donatos!’
‘All the more reason to get back out there and fight, then,’ put in Sire Garath angrily. ‘If they’ve killed everyone else then that’s a lot of lives need avenging.’
‘Too true,’ growled Markos, ‘and wars don’t get won by hiding. We didn’t used to need the Heavenly Host, or planet-wide vox networks. We didn’t have them when the orks invaded Adrastapol. We just sallied forth, found our enemies, and destroyed them.’
‘Destroy our enemies?’ said Lady Tamsane Dar Pegasson in disbelief. ‘Perhaps the reality of the situation escapes you, Sire Markos, but we are the ones who have been all but destroyed! How many foes remain in the field? How many renegade Knights? How many of those Emperor-damned Word Bearers? If we re-establish vox, and if there’s anyone else left alive, then our priority should be to fall back to our beachhead and consolidate before we even consider returning to the offensive!’
‘Trust a Knight of Pegasson,’ growled Markos, ‘to suggest we hide behind our castle walls when the fields are burning. Where were you during the Ork Wars anyway, Lady Tamsane? Hiding up in the mountains with the rest of your House?’
Several of the Knights shouted at once in response to this, their cries of outrage and demands for apology mingled with angry rumbles of agreement.
‘We can’t fall apart like this,’ shouted Danial, struggling to make himself heard over the growing swell of angry debate. ‘It is precisely what our enemies want.’
Then the crack of a gunshot cut through the clamour. All the Knights fell silent, looking around incredulously to see Sire Olric with his autopistol still pointed at the ceiling. The Draconis Knight’s normally affable features were set in a stony scowl.
‘Our houses,’ he said in a low voice, ‘have always had their differences. We have always argued, but we have always found our way to common cause through the wisdom of the High King.’
‘Tolwyn’s dead,’ spat Sire Garath.
‘That he is, Emperor keep him always,’ replied Sire Olric, lowering his gun and brushing his sandy hair out of his eyes. ‘And so tradition dictates that the succession needs to occur. The crown must be passed on in spirit, even if the artefact itself was lost when Tolwyn fell. The new High King must be invested. Only then can we have unity, and the strength to take this fight back to the foe.’
For a moment, Danial felt honest bewilderment as all eyes turned back to him. Then realisation clenched his innards tight. They meant him. He was the late High King’s son and heir. And now, they wanted him to be High King. Panic threatened to choke off the air in his lungs as he saw the anger and exasperation writ plain on Sire Markos’ face. Realisation dawned upon Luk’s features even as it must have been spreading across his own. Then he looked to Jennika, to the older sister who had always defended him, always supported him and been there when he needed her aid. In her eyes, Danial Tan Draconis saw only sympathy.
Danial had only minutes to reconcile himself with the avalanche of change that had crashed down upon his world to bury him. It was all too much, too sudden. He clutched the amulet that his father had given him just one night earlier. The father who now lay slain. The father whose mantle of responsibility he was about to take up, because tradition dictated that it must be so. Danial felt like a young squireling, acting the fool by pulling on his father’s outsized sword belt and robes. He wasn’t ready to lead, and the thought of so much responsibility and pressure clenched his innards in a steely vice until he thought he would be sick.
Away across the cavernous space, a crude dais had been built from jagged chunks of rubble. One of Polluxis’ surviving Crawlers had disengaged Oath of Flame’s carapace hatches and lifted free Danial’s throne mechanicum. It now sat atop that heap of broken stone, flanked by chem lanterns on metal poles. Around it bustled the Knights, some making last preparations for the ceremony. Most just talked quietly and earnestly amongst themselves while shooting glances in his direction. Danial had no desire to know what they were saying, though he could well imagine.
‘Da, you’ll be fine,’ muttered Luk, clapping one hand on Danial’s shoulder and shaking him from his reverie.
‘What would you know of it, traitor’s son?’ whispered Sire Markos, angry and urgent.
‘Jen,’ croaked Danial, throat tightening with panic. ‘I’m not ready for this. I can’t…’
‘You can,’ whispered Jennika in return, her tone firm and reassuring. ‘And you will. This is a great burden to place upon you, Danial, it is true. But brother, we will be here to help you bear it. You are the son and heir of Tolwyn Tan Draconis and Polenna Tan Draconis. You are equal to this task because it is in your very blood.’
‘I…’ said Danial, before clearing his throat and starting again. ‘I’ll do my best, Jen, I will. But father was a hero. He was a king. I’m barely more than a squire!’
‘You’re ready,’ she said simply. Danial took a deep breath, then nodded.
‘All right. I’ll take the crown.’
‘Lady Jennika,’ hissed Markos urgently, trying not to be overheard. ‘You and I both know that the lad isn’t ready for this! Emperor alone knows I’ve no desire to undermine him – he’s Tolwyn’s son, for Throne’
s sakes! I’ve practically raised him as my own. But asking him to take command? To make the sorts of decisions that your father could make? It’s bloody madness!’
‘Sire Markos, I understand your concerns,’ replied Jennika stiffly, but Markos wasn’t finished.
‘Do you? Book learning is not the same as years of experience leading Knights in the field,’ he said. ‘Lady Jennika, surely this can be put off until we return to Adrastapol. The lad says he’s not ready, then he’s not! You and I could command for now. You’re royalty, I’m our House’s most veteran commander. Between us…’
But Jennika was shaking her head, and Sire Olric too.
‘You know it can’t be that way, Markos,’ he said solemnly. ‘Tradition dictates that the succession occurs at the earliest possible opportunity. Lady Jennika is not allowed to inherit the crown, even temporarily. And as for you and her sharing power and leaving the kingsward to languish? At best it would make House Draconis look so weak that we would lose primacy upon our return to Adrastapol. At worst it would seem an act of sedition at a time like this.’
‘He’s right,’ agreed Jennika. ‘Can’t you hear the whispers begin? Strange, they’d say, how the High King fell, only for his daughter and his herald to take power and depose his son and heir. Perhaps this wasn’t such an act of pragmatism at all? Perhaps it was a coup, and an assassination. Perhaps they are in league with the traitor Tan Chimaeros.’
Luk’s face set hard at those words, and Danial knew his friend well enough to sense the pain behind the mask.
‘I will do my duty,’ said Danial. ‘But I need your help.’ He looked straight at Jennika as he said this. ‘I’m not prepared for this mantle – I know it as well as you. But for House Draconis, I must bear this burden all the same. So I shall, no matter its weight.’
With that, Danial Tan Draconis turned and strode through the assembled Knights of Adrastapol. He kept his eyes straight forward, trusting to Jennika, Markos, and Olric to follow his footsteps. He ignored the sick pounding of his heart, the half-heard whispers from the seasoned Knights around him, and the distant rumble of the storms still raging on the surface far above. He kept his eyes upon his throne, sat so incongruously outside of his Knight on a crude heap of rubble. A traitorous voice in Danial’s mind whispered that he was ascending his father’s fresh built cairn, to sit the throne atop his grave. Danial clamped down hard on the thought, lest it cause the horror of the moment to overwhelm him.