The Unforgiven

by Gav Thorpe

  ‘We lost Astelan, but we gained Anovel and Cypher. On balance I believe we made the correct decision.’

  ‘Cypher gave himself up,’ said Sammael. ‘I would hardly list that in our achievements of that day.’

  ‘Would he have been there had we not brought Anovel and Typhus?’ countered Sapphon. The question was left hanging.

  ‘And on balance,’ Belial picked up the thread of the conversation, ‘do you believe allowing Cypher contact with Anovel was the correct decision?’

  Again, Sapphon had to resist the instinct to look at Azrael. He masked the urge by looking at the Dark Angels assembled, meeting their gazes, accusatory, neutral and supportive. His eyes rested on the Supreme Grand Master for a second and then turned to Belial.

  ‘It was a mistake. Poorly conceived and executed without forethought. Allowing Cypher to kill Anovel removed a lever which we could have applied during his interrogation. At the least we should have spent more time beforehand exerting traditional methods on Anovel to see what he might reveal.’

  Belial opened his mouth to speak but Sapphon raised a hand to silence him and turned to Azrael.

  ‘As I understand it, this conclave was mustered to discuss what we are to do with Cypher. It seems to be moving towards a trial by hearsay. If I am to be charged with transgressions against the Chapter, let them be plainly known.’

  ‘We must understand what has happened with Cypher if we are to chart a new course,’ said Ezekiel. ‘No accusation has been made, brother.’

  ‘In which case might I present some conclusions I have drawn from this unfortunate incident?’

  A nod was the only reply from Azrael, who settled back into his chair, face disappearing into the shadow of his hood once more.

  ‘Cypher allowed himself to be captured precisely to silence Anovel. He knows exactly what the plan-within-the-plan was going to be. Anovel was killed because of his complicity. I saw the look in his eye as his neck was broken. He was resigned to the fate, willingly laying down his life to protect Cypher.’

  ‘Or possibly the plan,’ said Asmodai, speaking for the first time since arriving. ‘We cannot ignore the possibility that Tharsis was simply a diversion or staging ground, and that whatever was due to occur at Caliban might yet come to pass.’

  ‘How could that be? We have the prime conspirators here,’ said Sammael. ‘Unless you believe Astelan capable of continuing the plot on his own.’

  ‘Typhus still lives,’ said Sapphon, ‘and who can say how many Fallen are involved, directly or at the periphery? Master Asmodai is correct, we must proceed as if Cypher’s warning is genuine.’

  ‘Voluntarily believe the lie he spun to gain access to Anovel?’ Belial sounded exasperated. ‘How much further down this blind alley do you wish to drag us?’

  ‘It makes no sense that he would be captured unless he believed he had a means to escape,’ said Master Balthasar. The captain of the Fifth Company held out a hand towards Ezekiel. ‘Brother-Librarian, how is it that you did not detect any murderous intent from Cypher?’

  ‘I scanned him only passively. There are techniques to mask one’s thoughts from such casual detection. You all know some of them, such as reciting the battle hymnals, visualising maintenance routines, other exercises that occupy the conscious thought. Cypher used such a technique to disastrous effect.’

  ‘This motivation seems unlikely,’ said Master Eradon. ‘Why silence Anovel at the cost of one’s own freedom? Cypher cannot escape the Rock, he has made his last mistake.’

  Sapphon could say nothing of what Azrael had revealed in the Hidden Chamber, of the previous seven occasions when Cypher had been in custody and yet managed to regain his freedom. Nor could any of the others privy to that knowledge, and so it left them without evidence to argue against the seeming impossibility of Cypher getting away from the Tower of Angels.

  ‘I concur,’ said Lexicanium Merlith. ‘We are in danger of creating ghosts out of thin air. We are treating Cypher with too much respect. Strip him of his armour, apply brand and blade and see how willing he is to suffer for this supposed ploy.’

  There were nods and murmurs of assent from others around the chamber. On the face of it, the Inner Circle was prepared to believe the threat had ended. Master Eradon, the Scout Company captain, voiced as such.

  ‘I propose a vote. The motion is that the latest expedition of the Ravenwing and Deathwing has recovered the primary conspirators in a plot to seed a new force of traitors on the world of Tharsis. In defying this they have taken valued captives in the Hunt and also protected the future stability of the sector. Does my summary find approval with this conclave?’

  ‘A vote is called,’ Azrael said. ‘The conclave will make known its will. White signifies support for Master Eradon’s assertion and the conclave is concluded. Cypher will be submitted to all the usual means of excruciation. The Rock will continue to its current destination and the Chapter shall divide into such campaign forces and companies as required by its forthcoming commitments. Black signifies disagreement. The conclave will continue until a different course of action is determined and a fresh vote taken to approve it.’

  The lights flickered out, leaving the participants in pitch darkness. In his left hand Sapphon had the black ball, the white in his other. It occurred to him that there was little to be achieved by continuing the discussion with the full Inner Circle. Whatever happened next with Cypher would be of the most clandestine nature. Although he disagreed entirely with Eradon’s assessment, it made no sense to drag out the proceedings. Finding the channel carved into the surface of the conclave table with the fingers of his right hand, he allowed the white ball to slip from his grasp and roll to the receptacle at the table’s heart. The black he slid into a gutter at the edge of the table, destined to be gathered with the other discarded votes in front of Azrael. He listened to the sound of the balls clicking and rolling through the mechanism of the table.

  Silence fell. The vote was concluded.

  The lights came on at a hidden command from Azrael. The Supreme Grand Master activated the counting mechanism and the crane arm swept out to the central receptacle and retrieved the votes within. Azrael separated the balls into two slots before him.

  ‘The white outweighs the black,’ Azrael announced. ‘Master Eradon’s proposal is approved. We shall recommence our usual duties.’

  Only then did Azrael look at Sapphon. The Master of Sanctity saw the intent that the matter was far from concluded. Sapphon replied with the subtlest of nods while the others left the room. Whatever he needed to do next, even if he had the tacit approval of his lord, the Master of Sanctity would be acting entirely on his own and would be expected to bear full responsibility.

  As it always is, he thought.

  Under Scrutiny

  Sapphon watched through the grille of the cell door as Asmodai plied his bloody talent on the body of Cypher. The Fallen had submitted to having his armour removed without argument, though Asmodai had issued a stern warning regarding the sword – a warning issued with such vehemence that Sapphon might have concluded Asmodai was wary of the blade, if such a thing were possible.

  With the same meekness, Cypher suffered the blows and cuts laid upon him by Asmodai. The Interrogator-Chaplain seemed inspired, eyes alight with the challenge of breaking the will of the thrice-cursed. Sapphon had seen him many times before, in a semi-hypnotic stupor most of the time. Now Asmodai was relishing every moment of the excruciation.

  It was just the first few hours of what promised to be a very long process, but even so Sapphon was impressed by the stoic silence of the prisoner. His body was no stranger to injury. The scars that crisscrossed and punctured his flesh were testament to millennia of battle.

  Cypher lay on the slab and stared at the ceiling, looking at some faraway place in his own mind. He barely flinched as flesh was parted by blades and skin seared by brands.

&
nbsp; Sapphon was no stranger to these cells and the activities for which they existed. It was rare these days that he took up the cruder instruments of interrogation, preferring instead to use manipulation of the soul and psyche, and the talents of the Librarium, to prise the secrets from those that came to him. Unlike Asmodai, he was interested more in the secrets of the Fallen than their confessions. Perhaps that was why he lacked a single black pearl to his name – the reward given to a Chaplain for each Fallen brought to repentance. When they had revealed their secrets to him, when they were ready to admit their sins, Sapphon lost interest and was willing for others of the Reclusiam to complete the bloody deed.

  Despite this experience he found the spectacle of Cypher’s excruciation bordering on the uncomfortable. The Fallen was barely present, only the odd grimace to show that he felt anything at all. In contrast, Asmodai was a grunting, snarling, bestial thing of the shadows. Not once had the Interrogator asked a question in the hours since his arrival. These opening stages were not about the truth, they were about demonstrating the pain that was to come, the pregnant threat of the dire instruments lined up on the shelf next to the captive. It was the proof that any and all measures would be used without mercy.

  If there was any expression on Cypher’s face, it was sorrow. A profound sadness in his eyes, brought about by whatever imagined vista he looked upon rather than his current plight. Looking more closely, Sapphon realised why the scene did not sit right in his mind. Cypher’s twitches and lip curls of pain had nothing to do with the ministrations of Asmodai – the Fallen’s reactions were purely to slights occurring in his mind.

  All this contributed to his unease, but there was one other thing that gave him misgivings about the current situation and he resolved that he should speak to Asmodai about it. Given the delicate balance of affairs both with Cypher and the Inner Circle, Sapphon wanted to be as honest as he could with the Master of Repentance.

  Sapphon entered quietly, earning a glance from Asmodai. The Master of Sanctity gestured to his fellow Chaplain and indicated that they should step outside. Asmodai wiped his hands on a bloodstained cloth and followed Sapphon back into the corridor.

  ‘Have you ever witnessed the like?’ said the Master of Sanctity when the door was closed and the grille shuttered.

  ‘Never,’ admitted Asmodai. ‘Aside from his physical resistance, he seems to me as one that has no more left to lose, nothing worth defending. The Fallen cling to their lies and betrayals as definitions of themselves, and are only too eager to spout their vile beliefs to those of our calling. He makes no defence, raises no objection to his treatment.’

  ‘Perhaps he thinks he deserves it?’

  ‘That would be remarkable. It would also be against every impression he had given me so far, up to the murder of Anovel. He has secrets, every Fallen does. He killed his ally to keep us from learning them. Maybe he is certain he can resist all excruciation.’

  ‘Or he has another plan,’ said Sapphon, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘You recall his history, as Azrael related it?’

  ‘You think his manner stems from confidence that he will escape?’

  ‘We must consider the possibility. There is also one other matter I wish to bring to your attention.’ Sapphon opened the grille again and stepped back. ‘The far corner, on the left, where the shadows from the brazier fall.’

  Frowning, Asmodai looked into the cell. He stepped back in shock and darted a look at Sapphon.

  ‘I have never…’ The Master of Repentance was lost for words, stunned by what he had seen.

  Sapphon said nothing as he closed the slit, glimpsing again what he had seen a few minutes earlier. In the darkness of the corner were two embers, eyes in the shadow. A Watcher in the Dark.

  ‘It is without precedent,’ he said. ‘Never has a Watcher shown any interest in an excruciation before.’

  ‘None that exists in our records,’ Asmodai added quickly, obviously referring to the journals spoken of by Azrael. ‘Perhaps there is an account elsewhere. Could the Watchers be the means of his escape?’

  ‘I would rather not speculate. But it is clear to me that we must pursue a different strategy. Physical incentives are having no effect, no matter how deftly applied.’

  Asmodai shook his head, brow furrowing.

  ‘You are going to talk to him, yes?’ the Chaplain growled. ‘Do you learn nothing?’

  ‘I must,’ Sapphon said with a shrug. ‘But we must be of accord this time. I require no oath nor will make any demand by my rank. I want you to listen and apply your own assessment. You are wrong about me, I do learn, and so I rely upon you to stop my judgement being led astray. We will listen together and we will decide what to do together. Will you grant me that grace?’

  Asmodai was almost as shocked as when he had seen the Watcher. His stare searched Sapphon’s face for any sign of treachery, but found none. The Master of Sanctity had been entirely earnest in his approach. After accepting the blame for the fiasco with Cypher and Anovel, on top of the machinations with Astelan, Sapphon needed Asmodai as an ally not an enemy.

  ‘The Supreme Grand Master needs us to find answers, and swiftly,’ Sapphon added. ‘What we learn must be for the ears only of those that Azrael entrusted in the Hidden Chamber. Do you agree?’

  Asmodai glanced at the cell door, thinking of the captive within, and then nodded in reply to Sapphon’s question.

  ‘The vote of the conclave was in error,’ Asmodai said. ‘The scheme we unearthed might well be continuing and our only key to its mysteries is Cypher. I expect I could bludgeon the truth even from such a reticent soul, but your methods may prove swifter. The Supreme Grand Master cannot afford to pander to the niceties of the Inner Circle.’

  The Master of Repentance opened the door and signalled for Sapphon to enter.

  ‘I will wait here,’ Sapphon heard the other Chaplain say as he closed the cell door.

  Cypher was looking at Sapphon intently, his eyes following him as he moved around the slab-like table and stood beside the Fallen’s head. Blood spilled from dozens of cuts and there was bruising around the chest and ribs – there would be no evidence of either in the morning, due to the quick healing of a Space Marine’s physiology.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Cypher, surprising Sapphon. ‘The death of Anovel was regrettable. Dishonourable.’

  Sapphon was not sure how to respond to this. He had expected more silence, not an admission of guilt, despite the obvious nature of the crime. Beneath a crimson mask, Cypher’s face seemingly showed genuine contrition.

  ‘A trap was being set,’ Cypher continued. ‘Anovel was just a pawn in a greater scheme.’

  ‘You told me he was going to betray his allies.’

  ‘He was. In fact, he has. The deed is done, his death changes nothing except to silence him.’

  ‘But you know his secrets, I think. Secrets that condemn you.’

  ‘I am condemned already by history,’ Cypher replied. He glanced away. ‘The list of charges you bring against me is long indeed, is it not?’

  ‘You are the thrice-cursed,’ said Sapphon. The epithet seemed trite, irrelevant now that he was face to face with the man it had been placed upon. Calling one’s enemies bad names seemed a petty act, but so useful for inciting the necessary hatred in others. ‘I appreciate your candour. Let us start with the most fundamental questions. Do you deny that you took part in the rebellion against the Lion?’

  ‘That is of no importance, Master Sapphon. We could trade words for a lifetime concerning my allegiances and still be in discord. You are just following the form of your colleague, Asmodai. You may invite him in if you wish, what I have to say needs to be heard by you both. I needed to know that you would listen.’

  Sapphon looked towards the door and gave a nod to Asmodai looking in through the grille. For some reason the Master of Sanctity then glanced to the corner where the Watch
er had been standing, perhaps seeking permission or reassurance. He did not know why. Whatever the cause of Sapphon’s curiosity, the Watcher in the Dark had vanished. Whether this was implicit approval of the current proceedings or entirely unrelated, Sapphon could only guess.

  Asmodai closed the door with a firm hand and waited on the threshold, not trusting himself to move within reach of the bound Fallen. His displeasure at being apparently summoned was already writ in his reddening face.

  ‘Choose your next words very carefully,’ said Sapphon.

  ‘Perditus,’ said Cypher.

  ‘Is that a curse?’ snapped Asmodai.

  ‘A world,’ Cypher said, resting his head on the stone table. ‘One that I first heard of during the time you now call the Horus Heresy.’

  ‘What is on this world?’ demanded Sapphon.

  Cypher smiled with genuine warmth of recollection.

  ‘The key to Horus’s defeat and the salvation of the Dark Angels.’

  Repulsed

  Deep in the heart of the Rock was the chamber of the Master of the Forge, head of the Cult Mechanicus amongst the Techmarines of the Chapter. He was the driving force behind the machinery of the Tower of Angels – literally. On ascending to his rank, each Master of the Forge forsook an independent life and became part of the systems that controlled the Rock, a conscious biological intelligence monitoring nearly the entirety of the Dark Angels fortress-monastery. This ranged from plasma reactor to void shields, environmental stabilisers to the artificial gravity network. It also included the extensive security systems of the Tower of Angels, meaning that very little passed unnoticed by the Master of the Forge.

  Such surveillance made it necessary for Sapphon and Asmodai to approach Sammael in clandestine fashion, arranging to meet the Grand Master of the Ravenwing in the Hidden Chamber now that Azrael had revealed its location.