I suspected the millions of people on Armageddon locked in battle for half a year would beg to differ with his appraisal, but it was typical of the order to see things in such a way.
I’d been with Annika too long, that I even considered the other possibilities.
‘How many of the order have come?’
Nadion looked at me, no longer focusing on the bio-hololithic. ‘Almost two hundred. Three battle-barges, including the Fire of Dawn. We came in force, brother, little by little, as soon as we were able. Imagine our disappointment to learn the heroism was already done, months before we arrived.’
‘Don’t make light of this, Nadion. A hundred of us died down there. A hundred. That thing… It went through us like a bladed wind. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was harvesting us, reaping our lives. No other words can describe it.’
‘Forgive my levity. You know I meant no offence, brother. I grieve with you.’
I nodded, though the motion made me wince.
‘I saw that,’ Naidion said. ‘I’ll ask again, how is your head?’
‘It throbs in time with my heartbeat. As I said, I’ve felt better.’ My eyes drifted to the hololithic display, showing an image of my wounds and the resulting surgeries performed since lifting me from stasis.
I blinked at a blur of blackness taking up the left side of my flickering holo-image skull.
‘That’s…’
‘Yes. It is. Hence why I’m asking how your head feels,’ said Nadion.
I reached to touch my cheek, and my fingers bumped against cold metal. I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, I stroked across the metal, feeling for its edges. They blended with only faint seams where the metal met skin.
‘The pressure in your head split your skull in these places…’ Nadion was pointing at the hololithic, but I hardly needed a diagram to tell me where I was mutilated. I could feel it with my fingers.
‘I wasn’t that injured in the battle, Nadion. Why have you done this?’
‘Be calm, brother. We are speaking of psychic pressure. And in case you’re still blind to what I’m saying, believe me when I say you’re fortunate your head didn’t burst. You clearly aggravated the wounds further by using your powers after you woke on the battlefield.’ He gave me a long look. ‘That wasn’t wise. That was, in fact, foolish beyond measure. You should have known.’
‘I had to see how Galeo died.’
‘Just Galeo?’
After Malchadiel had woken and the recovery gunship was inbound, I’d gone back to Galeo. I couldn’t resist; I had to know. That much I remembered clearly.
I’d found Captain Taremar’s corpse, as well. His death had been everything Brand Rawthroat had said it was – one man with a golden blade against a towering evil, though the vague flashes of insight I’d gleaned spoke of a brief battle. No man could stand against such a foe for long.
‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Not just Galeo. A hundred of my brothers died while I was unconscious, Nadion. I had to see what happened to them.’
‘Your brothers died while you were in a coma, fool. You were more than simply “unconscious”.’ He sighed, deactivating the hololithic. ‘When you reached for them, did you see anything of worth? Were the images clear?’
Were they ever? The dead were always jealous of their secrets, even to those they’d once called kindred.
‘No,’ I admitted again. ‘I saw little detail beyond the blows that ended their lives.’
‘Well, I will not fault you for making the attempt. Three matters remain before I can release you.’
I looked at him while still feeling my face, exploring the geography of surgical reconstruction.
‘An inquisitor by the name of Annika Jarlsdottyr has visited you a number of times. I have recorded her visits in a secondary file for your perusal.’
Bless her for her attention. She was a unique soul, that one. ‘My thanks. What else?’
‘A Wolf warrior has also visited you several times, reporting that he was checking your condition to report back to his Chapter. His name was–’
‘Brand Rawthroat, I assume.’
‘A fine deduction. It was indeed.’
‘And the last matter?’
‘Well, you are aboard the Fire of Dawn, Hyperion. What do you think the last matter might be?’
‘Lord Joros wishes to speak with me as soon as I am able.’
‘What an insightful fellow you are,’ he said. For the briefest moment, I thought he was going to smile. I thought wrong.
‘I sense something is going unsaid, Nadion. That doesn’t bode well.’
‘Indeed?’
‘You’ve not told me of Malchadiel.’
‘Ah, yes,’ replied Nadion. ‘Malchadiel.’
II
I found him in the flagship’s port secondary hangar. He was, perhaps unsurprisingly, surrounded by what looked like scrap metal drifting in the air around him. The familiarity of the scene forced the beginnings of a smile on my lips.
The smile died when he turned to face me. He wore the same monastic robe as I did, though the long sleeves couldn’t quite hide the black iron hand where his left arm had once been. His face was a patchwork of sutured flesh, leaving him looking more like Sothis in his mutilation than I’d ever believed possible. The biggest change of all came when he turned around fully. I heard the clank of heavy steel feet thudding on the deck, though he wore no armour at all.
The revolving metal scrap drifted down to the floor as he met my eyes.
‘You look different,’ he said.
Automatically, I reached up to touch the cold metal where half of my face had been. It stretched from my left temple all the way down to my jawline, and round to the back of my skull.
‘So do you.’
He came closer, with a thudding, awkward gait. ‘Nadion took my legs. My spine was, to use his term, “mangled”, so he replaced that, as well.’ He said the words as though it were nothing at all. Then, a small smile. ‘I can’t run yet. In truth, I don’t walk all that well, as you can see. But I’ll adjust. We’re Grey Knights. We endure.’
He lifted his left arm to show me. It purred and hummed in a chorus of smooth bionics. ‘He gave me this, as well. It’s easier to use.’
This… this was extensive augmentation. He was more cybernetic than human now, even at a casual glance.
‘How do you feel?’
He shrugged. It was the little details like that that showed our age compared to the true veterans. They tended to forget tiny human touches like shrugging or nodding.
‘It feels different. It also feels better than being dead, so I can hardly complain. It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you mean.’ His ruined face creased with a smile. ‘I heard the Wolves are calling you Hyperion Bladebreaker now. A Fenrisian deed name? That has a heroic ring to it, don’t you think?’
The words left my lips before I really knew why. I think his smile triggered them.
‘You look like Sothis now,’ I said.
He touched his face for a moment, with his remaining human hand. ‘I suppose I do. To be honest, I’ve not looked at myself in the mirror a great deal. Have you spoken with Lord Joros?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then I shall come with you. Give me five minutes to repair this turret.’ He turned back to his work, already bidding the metal to rise. ‘It’s good to see you alive, brother.’
I sent him a hesitant pulse of returned feeling. He accepted it, and the link between us was reforged anew. I heard his thoughts again as I always had; the faintest background presence, ignorable unless I focused.
From within a deep, healing slumber across the chamber, I felt Enceladus merge with the communion. His union was wordless, weak, but undeniably there.
Even in this diminished form, Castian stood once again.
III
Joros, Knight-Lord, Grand Master of the Eighth Brotherhood, was as much an example of the knightly ideal as Captain Taremar or Lord Vaurmand of the Third. It isn’t unfair
to the man to say he thrived on formality, and the Fire of Dawn was as much monastery as warship. Walking its halls, you’d never believe it had a crew of thousands. Such was the silence.
At capacity, the Great Hall had room for several hundred warriors; far more than existed in a single brotherhood. Woven banners and deed lists hung from the arched ceiling, no few of which depicted the deeds of Castian through the generations. For once, I felt no pride. I felt no awe, either. The deeds of my predecessors failed to move me. I felt a similar insularity in Malchadiel, walking at my side as we made our way along the central carpet.
It smote me to walk at his side, and I feel no shame in confessing it. His halting, ungainly stomp didn’t seem to bother him at all – he found the flaws curious, and blithely assumed he’d adapt to his new legs and hips soon enough. Even so, it wounded me to see him struggle. We were only alive because of his kine-shield. To leave the battlefield as a cripple seemed the poorest of rewards.
He didn’t even have a ridiculous deed name, awarded by the Fenrisians. Not that I cared for my own.
Several times during the walk, Mal had stopped to lean against a wall, flexing his joints and making muttered notes about slight adjustments that he planned to make.
‘A degree of resistance in the fibre-bundles mimicking the tibial collateral ligament,’ he said at one point. ‘It’s nothing I can’t rectify myself.’
‘Shouldn’t you ask Nadion or one of the Techmarines to deal with such things?’
‘Only the parts I can’t reach.’ He’d moved away from the wall, testing his knee again. ‘Come. Our lord awaits.’
That wasn’t entirely accurate. Grand Master Joros wasn’t waiting; he was in council with his paladins, while seated in his ornate command throne. Every figure in the chamber except for Malchadiel and myself wore dense Terminator plate. Even the knights by the marble pillars, standing at attention, generated a significant hum from their active, hulking suits of armour.
It all seemed a touch dramatic for honour guard duty, but it was also tradition down to the last detail.
One of them nodded to me as we passed. I almost stopped in surprise at informal recognition from a paladin.
‘Well, well, well…’ Lord Joros said from his throne. ‘Look who has finally awoken.’
I came to a halt before him. Malchadiel did the same, though he had to lean on me for support. He’d clearly not mastered stopping with any grace yet. The receptors and nerve-bondings in his new legs hadn’t settled enough.
I made to kneel as tradition dictated, but Malchadiel’s bionic hand gripped my shoulder.
+I don’t think I can kneel,+ he sent, clearly nervous about the fact. I looked to him, meeting his eyes. He gave a faint shake of his head, confirming his words.
+Then we’ll stand,+ I sent back.
Respect had to be shown. I bowed as deep as I could while supporting Malchadiel, helping him do the same.
Lord Joros rose from his throne, taking several heavy steps forwards, looking down at us from the height bequeathed by his Terminator plate.
‘Did your wounds wipe the traditions from your minds, my brothers?’ His aquiline features seemed particularly hawkish in the shadowy half-light of so many candles. He presented us with his signet ring, cast in black iron and forged to fit around an armoured knuckle.
Malchadiel cleared his throat. ‘I cannot kneel, Grand Master.’
The lord watched us both, showing neither amusement nor malice. He said a single word, through an emotionless facade.
‘Try.’
I was reluctant to release Malchadiel. In the end, it was he who moved from my arm with a faint nod, going down on one knee with halting, stuttering movements. His knees ground and clicked, ticked and thrummed. They locked at one point, causing bolts of pain up his new spine.
I took a knee next to him. We kissed the signet ring in turn. It had the tangy taste of old blood and older metal.
‘Rise,’ Lord Joros said a moment later.
I did so. This time, Malchadiel refused my hand to help. He rose a little smoother than he’d knelt, though the tightness at his eyes showed how much it cost him to bite back the pain.
‘So, then.’ Joros returned to his throne, seating himself and draping his white cloak over the chair’s side. ‘Two of the last survivors of noble Castian – though the chances of Enceladus ever awakening are almost laughably low. It must be said, you are heroes, both of you.’ He tilted his head in the barest nod. ‘You’ve brought great honour to the Eighth Brotherhood. Especially you, Hyperion. The Wolves already name you Hyperion Bladebreaker.’
‘So I’ve heard, lord.’ Many, many times.
‘The Eighth lost a single squad in the Ragged Brotherhood of Armageddon.’ Our lord shared a glance with his nearby paladins. ‘This tragedy has left us stronger than before. I find that intriguing. By comparison, the Third Brotherhood is reduced to half-strength. A moment of woe for them, no doubt. Yet it does rather eliminate Lord Vaurmand from nominating himself for the rank of Supreme Grand Master for a long while.’
Our brotherhood’s strength was preserved purely by chance – that most of our warriors were too far from Armageddon to answer the initial call. That hardly struck me as a position steeped in honour.
Joros watched me closely, as he gleaned a fraction of my unguarded thoughts. He narrowed his eyes as he spoke again. ‘I am not so macabre as to dance over the bones of my brothers, Hyperion. Put aside your morbid concerns. I am merely stating the situation as it stands. Should Supreme Grand Master Ocris fall, the honour will be disputed between myself, Llyr of the First, and Geronitan of the Fourth.’
I stood silently through my lord’s ambitions, suspecting I knew what was coming. ‘Castian stands on the edge of destruction. Enceladus, should he rise again from the wounds that have laid him low, has earned his place back as Sepulcar of the Dead Fields. I would never refuse him the chance to return, with all honours. However, neither of you are suited to take command. You are both too inexperienced to rise to the rank of justicar.’
‘I understand,’ we said in unison.
‘The true fighting was over long before we arrived, which I should be thankful for. But we enter the aftermath now. This foulness is almost finished – only the cleansing remains. We’ll be back at Titan’s docks before another month or two. You have my word.’
When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. ‘The Inquisition is preparing to take control of the ashes, now the Wolves have won their war. Given the extensive nature of the sanctioning that remains to be done in the wake of this madness, the ordos have ordered us to aid them. We need every knight, and every ship. You two will return to the Karabela and await further instructions.’
‘As you command,’ I said. ‘What have the ordos revealed about the scale of the sanctions?’
Joros leaned forwards in his throne, suddenly kingly and weary in equal measure. ‘None of us will enjoy the duties to come, Hyperion. But we are the blade, not the hand that wields it. Our place is to kill, not to question.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that, lord.’
‘I would think less of you if you did. Return to your ship and await your orders. When they come, obey without hesitation. Do you understand me?’
We saluted, again, in perfectly unity.
‘Once this reeking aftermath is behind us, you will both be honoured for your actions on Armageddon. It’s the least the Eighth can do. Malchadiel, am I to assume you still wish to be sent to the Ring of Iron?’
‘Mars still calls to me, lord.’
‘Then it shall be so. Hyperion?’
‘I ask only to serve, lord.’
‘A noble answer, but we’ll see. Back to the Karabela, then. And heed these words, brothers. Watch the Wolves.’
IV
Annika was waiting for us. Her companions ringed Captain Castor’s command throne on the strategium, standing in disarrayed formation. Annika waited by the throne itself, fuming.
‘Have you heard what th
e ordos have decided?’ she asked.
Malchadiel was sweating, pained by his new augmetics, but remained at my side. I looked up to Annika, confirming what I’d suspected on entering. Yes, she was fuming.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘My thanks for asking.’
‘This is no time for jokes, Hyperion.’
That was a perfect example of what I mean when I said I fail to understand most human humour. Timing is everything.
‘I have heard nothing regarding the ordos’ intent, mistress. We were instructed to return and await further orders.’
She leaned on the railing, looking down at us. ‘There was a vote, among the Inquisitorial forces here. They voted to condemn the entire population of Armageddon.’
That wasn’t a surprise. Her reaction, however, was.
‘I fail to understand how you can’t have expected this,’ I admitted.
‘The Great Wolf was adamant in his orders. Entire populations of some hive cities haven’t even been touched by this war. That’s why he ordered all Grey Knights out of the cities.’
‘And there’s been no contamination while I was wounded? Not a single soul saw any of my order, in these last one hundred days? None of those cities saw even the dust from an enemy army on the horizon?’
She scowled. That was never a good sign. ‘This isn’t a standard purge, Hyperion. They’re rounding up the entire population of the planet. The people are to be sterilised and committed to labour camps. Armageddon will be reseeded with colonists drafted in to dwell in the empty cities.’
I looked at Malchadiel. He looked back at me.
+There’s been a flaw in communication,+ he said. +That cannot be true.+
+Of course it can.+
+You don’t think this is a rather extreme reaction for our masters to take?+
+I’m saying it doesn’t surprise me. These people have walked the same world as one of the Great Beasts of Sanguinary Unholiness. Armageddon is only escaping Exterminatus because of its industrial value to the subsector’s Imperial Guard.+
Annika was still looking down at us. ‘I can almost hear you two speaking with one another. It’s like… what is the word in Gothic? Tinnitus? A ringing inside my ears.’
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