Fabius followed him out of the arena. He felt the eyes of the Quaestor on him the entire way.
Chapter nine
The Lost
In the training cages aboard the Vesalius, Arrian let the weight of the blade guide his hand. Falax blades often had a mind of their own. They went where they would, thirsty for blood. He turned, following the steps of an ancient dance – the oldest dance. The dance of eternity. Of death and rebirth. He had not learned it among his Legion. It was a mote of his past, of a forgotten childhood, lodged in his memory. A painful note in an old song.
The nails that bit into his mind and soul sparked as he moved, and the chemical dampeners went to work, muting the pain. The Red Path receded, its jagged contours softened, and the barbaric rush faded. For a time, he would be able to concentrate. To see, without the shadow of the axe clouding his vision.
Free of his leash, the war hound danced, and his brothers kept time. Their ghosts howled and stamped, urging him on to greater speed. Their chains clacked in arrhythmic accompaniment as he whirled and spun, blades slicing the air. The sound they made as they did so was like the sliding of some vast serpent’s scales across stone. His battleplate creaked and groaned with exertion. It was almost like a thing alive, and as lazy as any predator.
It felt good to move, to slash and spin. Working with the Chief Apothecary was akin to running a whetstone along the edge of one’s mind, ever sharpening your thoughts and observations. But such narrow focus led to a dulling of the body, and a dependence on chemical stimulants to prod old instincts into motion. A sharp mind required a sharp body, else the whole mechanism would grind to a halt, at the worst possible moment.
He had almost died aboard the craftworld. The Harlequins had surprised him – had surprised them all. Once, that would not have been the case. Perhaps the dampeners had dulled his wits overmuch. He had lost focus and it had nearly killed him. The wound pulled against itself as he moved. The pain was good.
The Harlequin had been fast – so fast. He had fought eldar before, and knew their speed. But this had been something else again. A whirling dervish of flashing colour and silent smiles. He felt the echo of the impact, of the alien fingers sliding through the joins in his armour, biting into his flesh with surprising strength, clawing for his heart. He’d erased its smile a moment later, but too late.
One more scar for the collection, brother, the ghosts murmured. One more debt paid.
‘Quiet,’ Arrian said. The skulls clattered against his chest-plate, as if laughing at him. He turned away from the thought and towards other, more immediate worries. It had been several hours since the Chief Apothecary had been escorted to the planet’s surface. They had heard nothing since. Alkenex’s warriors held the command deck and patrolled the main corridors and causeways. For all intents and purposes, the ship was theirs.
That could change, and swiftly, but Arrian was loath to implement such a course without cause. To do so risked the Vesalius being destroyed out of hand by Harmony’s defence-grid. Not to mention the other vessels in close orbit. The battle-barge, Wage of Sin, was not alone out there in the void. A pack of vessels of various make and class prowled the debris belt around Harmony. More vessels sworn to the Third Legion. A fleet in the offing. They were outnumbered and outgunned. Patience was the best weapon they had.
He heard a sound behind him. A cat-quiet tread, light and swift. Arrian leapt, turned and dropped, blade extended. The tip came to a halt inches from Igori’s throat. He gave no sign of surprise at her sudden presence, though he had not heard her enter the chamber. She looked down at the blade and then up at him.
‘He has been down there too long.’
Arrian nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘We must go to him.’
‘No.’
Her nostrils flared. ‘They may kill him.’
‘Yes.’
She stared at him, like a raptor studying its prey. Her hands twitched, as if seeking to sink into warm flesh, and peel it back from bone. Arrian lowered his blade, spun it and sheathed it. ‘You do not think they will,’ she said after a moment.
‘No. If they wanted him dead, they would have left him to the eldar. This is something else.’ He rested his hands on the hilts of his swords, frowning. ‘I do not know what, but something.’
Igori nodded, her frown mirroring his. ‘I do not like this.’
‘Nor do I. But we must have faith. In him, if nothing else.’
She smiled. A feral thing, that smile. He returned it in kind. They understood each other, he thought. Two beasts, pulling against the same leash. Two hounds, loyal to the same master. ‘Faith is for the weak,’ she said.
‘Yes. But weakness can be strength, in the right circumstances.’
Eidolon led Fabius up a set of cracked and broken steps, and into the remains of an open chamber, far above the amphitheatre below. Fabius recognised the shape of it – one of his secondary observation chambers. Here, the results of his lesser experiments would have been left to their own devices, their habits and behaviour recorded by the techno-organic sensor-polyps that sprouted from every wall. Those polyps, and their subjects, were long gone now. The bones of the latter crunched underfoot as he followed Eidolon into the chamber.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t recognise this place from the outset.’
‘I have never had a head for architecture,’ Fabius said. ‘Is there a reason you’re using one of my old facilities as a meeting place for your lodge, or was it merely expedience?’
‘We are not a warrior lodge, Fabius. Their purpose was served long ago, and they ceased to be. We are something new under the sun.’ Eidolon sounded insulted.
‘Secret societies are hardly unique, brother. Mankind has had them for as long as they have had fire and the shadows it cast.’
‘We are not secret, either.’
‘No? Then why masks and robes for the laity?’
‘Ritual is the sinew of brotherhood,’ Eidolon said. ‘Then, you’ve never been much for brotherhood, in all the years I’ve known you.’
‘If that is your belief, why bother to invite me here?’ Fabius lifted Torment and pointed it at Eidolon. ‘And how did you find me in the first place? Have you been watching me, then? Spying on me?’
‘Of course.’ Eidolon shrugged. ‘But in this instance, we were told where you were.’
‘And who told you how to find me, Eidolon?’
Eidolon drew a vaguely human shape in the dusty air. ‘She did.’
‘She?’
‘You know who I mean, Fabius.’ Eidolon grinned. ‘She who is as much a part of you as that contraption you wear.’
Fabius froze. His heartbeats slipped and the chirurgeon uttered a concerned hiss as it analysed the sudden faltering. ‘Melusine,’ he said softly.
Eidolon nodded. ‘She danced out of the shadows, speaking nonsense riddles and drawing shapes on the walls with golden talons.’ He indicated the wall, where strange shapes had been etched into the ancient rockcrete. After a moment’s study, Fabius realised that they were all of one piece – a crude star map.
‘Why?’
‘Why did she show us? Presumably because she wanted us to find you.’ Eidolon shrugged. ‘Who can tell, with one like that. She’s a member of the Dark Prince’s court, now, whatever she might once have been.’
Fabius grimaced. ‘Yes.’ He looked away. The last time he’d seen Melusine, she’d attempted to warn him about something. He’d been unable to make any sense of her ramblings, beyond the barest essence of the message. Was this another warning – or something else? ‘I’m surprised you trusted her. She is one of my creations, after all.’
‘Yes, but she belongs to another now. As everything you have made will belong to him, in time.’ Eidolon tapped the distorted aquila on his chest-plate. ‘The Phoenix stirs fitfully, and your horrid daughter-thing comforts him in his restlessness
.’
Fabius’ grip on Torment tightened. ‘Be that as it may, you still have not told me why you summoned me here.’
‘Do you know why we come here, Fabius?’
‘I would hesitate to guess.’
Eidolon chuckled. ‘Harmony was where the Legion died for a third time. Three times we have succumbed to the fires, and three times we have been reborn. This place is sacred – it is a place of pilgrimage and contemplation.’
‘It is a ruin filled with ghosts.’
‘Name me one cathedral of significance that isn’t.’ Eidolon gestured dismissively. ‘Harmony is where we were reborn, out of the fires of your madness. All of us – even you. Or can you truly claim that you are the same as you were then, before Abaddon cast his spear?’
Fabius hesitated. ‘No. Even my hubris has its limits.’
Eidolon nodded. ‘This place is as dear to us as lost Chemos, or the butcher-fields of Terra. It is a monument to our sins, and our strength. Here, our enemies came against us with enough force to crack a world, and still – we live. We endure. We grow. And we have you to thank for it, Fabius. Without your madness, we might have sunk into useless somnolence, as so many of our brothers have.’
‘And my reward was exile.’
‘Self-imposed exile.’
‘You tried to kill me.’
‘That wasn’t the first time,’ Eidolon said. ‘Assassins came for you on a daily basis when you were trying to consolidate your control over the Legion. And how many tried to kill our brother, Lucius? Or me? You should take it as a compliment.’
‘We have different ideas as to what constitutes a compliment.’
‘Possibly. We were angry with you, Fabius. We sought a scapegoat and you donned the horns and hide all too willingly. You’ve always been a martyr to one cause or another, and you’ve always given us reason to hate you. How many brothers did you condemn to undignified death, in order to preserve our ranks from the ravages of the blight?’
‘Too many.’
Eidolon nodded. ‘And some of those were closer than brothers, weren’t they? Do you remember Lycaeon? Whatever became of him?’ Eidolon was smiling as he asked the question. It was the smile of a man who already knew the answer to his own question. Fabius swallowed, perturbed despite himself. He had long since cast off the shackles of guilt, but even so, he felt a twinge at his old friend’s name.
‘Lycaeon died. At Terra.’
‘Did he? It is hard to remember. So many of us have died. So many of us yet live.’ Eidolon knocked on the broken wall. Clumps of masonry shifted and fell. ‘How did he die?’
Fabius frowned. ‘I don’t recall.’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ Eidolon turned, empty eyes studying Fabius. ‘Then, as I said, you’ve never been one for brotherhood, have you?’
Fabius was silent. Eidolon nodded, as if he had spoken. ‘Flavius hates you. I am not entirely certain why. A common state of affairs where you are concerned, though.’
‘Small minds hate what they fear,’ Fabius said.
Eidolon chuckled. More masonry fell, cascading down from above. Fabius stepped back. ‘Flavius has a larger mind than most. He fully grasps the extent of the performance to come, Fabius. He is… precious to me. As are you.’
‘You have an amusing way of showing it.’
‘Surely you understand by now – that little show out there was for their benefit. To demonstrate that I have you in hand. Word travels like wildfire in this region, Fabius. Already, spies flock to their masters, carrying news of your capture. Soon will come the demands – for your head, for your services, for your secrets.’
Fabius laughed. ‘Do you think I fear them? I am the most hated and beloved individual in the Eye, Eidolon. When your numbers run low, when mutation reduces your combat effectiveness, then you all come crawling, begging for the touch of my knife. But when you are strong, you hunt me and hound me, as if by bringing me to heel you might expunge some stain on yourselves. Hypocrites – every one of you.’
‘Spare me your self-righteousness, Fabius. It is a shade that does not suit you. Whatever your troubles, you have brought them on yourself.’ Eidolon touched the twisted mass of scar tissue that ringed his neck. ‘I know this, because I am your greatest sin, given voice.’ He smiled, the flesh of his lips tearing like paper, revealing a razor maw beneath. Up close, Fabius could see that Eidolon’s skull no longer fit his flesh. It had transformed in some awful, subtle way. Was transforming still. As if that sagging grey meat was nothing more than a cocoon for some gestating horror.
‘I gave you more than that, I think,’ Fabius said finally.
Eidolon laughed. A low sonorous sound that reverberated painfully through Fabius’ bones. ‘Perhaps. And perhaps that is why I have become inclined to lenience where you are concerned, renegade. Our father wants you chained to his throne. An ornament for his pleasure gardens. But I am disinclined to give Fulgrim such a small gift, when there are greater ones by far that could be provided.’
‘Speak plainly.’
‘I haven’t done that in quite some time, thanks to you.’ Eidolon turned. ‘But very well. I have found them, Fabius. After all these many thousands of years, I have found our missing brothers.’
Fabius frowned. ‘I was not aware we were missing anyone of particular importance.’
‘Weren’t you? I recall that you mourned them longer than most. You wept for the potential, never to be realised.’
Fabius’ eyes widened. ‘That is impossible. They were destroyed.’
‘That was only ever the most obvious explanation. But you should know by now that such things are rarely as they seem. The lost gene-tithe, Fabius. It is still intact. Still viable. And ready for the taking.’
The lost gene-tithe. The first blow their Legion had suffered, if not the most grievous. In the years following the Proximan Betrayal, a substantial portion of their gene-seed reserve had been dispatched to Luna, for safe-keeping. The tithe-ship had never reached its destination. Some reports claimed that Selenite rebels had hijacked a defence laser and destroyed the vessel, and all that it contained. Other reports insisted that the ship had suffered an unforeseen malfunction in its guidance systems, lost control and crashed, even as it attempted to dock. And some, fewer in number and heeded by no one, postulated that the ship and its precious cargo had simply… vanished.
Regardless, it was a mystery that had soon been forgotten, paling as it did next to the horrors to come. Fabius closed his eyes, fingers pressed to his temple. He could still recall the smell emanating from the gene-seed vaults on Terra. Of spoilage and sour meat. Only the vaults of the Third had been affected. A fast-acting viral blight, the bio-magos claimed. Cause and origin unknown. Even now, so many thousands of years later, it was still unknown. Perhaps it was some viral abomination, brewed in the darkest days of Old Night. They had created horrors in those days that would send even Neverborn shrieking for the safety of oblivion.
He felt it nestled deep within him. A black seed, spreading thin roots through the meat of him. Entropy in action. ‘Things fall apart,’ he murmured. ‘The centre cannot hold.’ A bit of poetic nonsense from a more innocent age. But sadly apt.
‘But even twenty centuries of stony sleep cannot crush such potential,’ Eidolon said. Fabius looked up. Eidolon smiled, his face twisting into a ghastly expression. ‘You are not the only one who knows that antiquated verse, Fabius.’ The smile slumped into a leer. ‘That was always your problem. You thought you were better than the rest of us, when really, you were the worst of all.’ He laughed, and recited, ‘“The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.”’
‘Enough mockery. How did you find it?’
‘The same way I found you. Someone told me.’
‘Where is it?’
Eidolon shrugged. ‘The Eastern Fringe. A world that is not a wo
rld.’
‘That is singularly unhelpful, Eidolon.’
‘I have the coordinates. That should be more than adequate, even for you.’
‘If you have the coordinates, why do you need me?’
‘So suspicious, Fabius. That, too, should be obvious. You are the Chief Apothecary – it is your responsibility. Your duty.’
Fabius gave a bark of laughter. ‘You’re a fine one to talk. I have no duty to this Legion of monsters, any more so than it has a duty to me. I am a Legion of one, and I have been since Abaddon drove his spear into the heart of this world.’
‘But it doesn’t have to be that way, Fabius. To forgive is divine.’
‘Another bit of doggerel you spout without understanding. Who is doing the forgiving here? Me? You? Fulgrim, perhaps? Has the Phoenician stirred at last from his throne of thorns to make himself heard once more by his prodigal sons?’
Eidolon frowned. ‘The Illuminator still sleeps, Fabius. He waits for us in a paradise of his own dreaming. In a shining city on a hill. I suspect you will never see it.’ A rumble was building in him, like the echo of distant thunder. Fabius paid it no mind.
‘And you, will you see it? Is that all you desire now, Lord Commander Primus? To grovel before your master’s coils?’ Fabius tensed. Eidolon’s jaw sagged. The sound that emerged from within that altered throat was akin to a physical blow. Even as he was knocked backwards, Fabius knew that Eidolon was using but a fraction of his strength. At its strongest, Eidolon’s howl could punch through the hull of a frigate.
He staggered, only just maintaining his feet. The chirurgeon was hissing in alarm, its articulated limbs clicking and whirring as it sought the threat. ‘Struck a nerve, I see,’ he croaked, awaiting the next strike. ‘If you cannot handle such petty insults with grace, I fear for the future of your arrangement with Abaddon.’
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