Bartimeus’s broad features dropped a little. ‘Immaterial squalls and storms are common this close to the Eye. It is possible that we crossed the wake of a convoy or flotilla, just clear of their entry point.’
‘Possible, corpus-commander?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it possible that it was a fleet or an armada, rather than a convoy?’
‘I’m sure I could not say…’
‘Well let’s try to be sure, shall we? Work with the Epistolary here to have your observations communicated to Cadia and Cypra Mundi. They may contribute to other intelligence. There could be a Black Crusade, for all we know, blasting its way out of the Eye of Terror.’
‘I think that unlikely…’ Bartimeus bit back.
‘And I think we should not profess to know the polluted contents of the Despoiler’s mind.’
‘It’s not the Despoiler,’ Chaplain Shadrath announced.
‘A spiritual perspective, Chaplain?’ Kersh turned on him. ‘I dare say the victims of previous crusades might have thought the same before their untimely deaths.’
‘It is the Keeler Comet,’ Shadrath hissed through his half-grille.
‘Stargazer too, Chaplain?’ Kersh said. ‘Are there no end to your talents? Pray, tell us how this astral body might provide an impediment in the warp?’
‘It’s an unnatural body, my lord,’ Melmoch interjected. The Librarian looked from Kersh to the Chaplain and then back to Kersh. ‘Records show that it was a long-period returning body that last visited the segmentum over ten thousand years ago.’
‘Was?’
‘Upon its return it found the Eye of Terror in its path. Witnessing vessels claim that it has emerged… changed. A blood-red comet, with a trailing ethereal tail and an erratic and unpredictable course.’
‘How can a comet have an unpredictable course?’ Kersh marvelled. ‘It has an orbit, it obeys the laws of gravity.’
‘Not the Keeler, sir,’ the Epistolary insisted. ‘It seems to have a mind of its own.’
‘How do you know of this?’
Melmoch told him. ‘The Ancient Traveller, sir. A pict of the original body, from antiquity, by the remembrancer Euphrati Keeler.’
‘Euphrati Keeler?’
‘Yes, corpus-captain. Saint Euphrati – prophet of the God-Emperor.’
‘The God-Emperor?’ Kersh questioned. ‘You think there not enough traits to set you apart from common Adeptus Astartes, Epistolary Melmoch, that you must indulge a belief that those more than mortal find offensive?’
‘I meant no offence, sir,’ Melmoch stated. ‘Only that the gift to which you allude is believed by some of my kind to be an expression of His divinity.’
‘And by some of mine to be an aberration, good Librarian, but there we have it.’
‘I am not the first Adeptus Astartes to hold such beliefs,’ Melmoch said, his smile still fixed to his face.
‘Well,’ Kersh said, leaning his head against the palm of his gauntlet. ‘We are all learning something today. To think that I was spending my time in the practise cages when I should have been in the Librarium.’
‘Your travels have taken you out of the segmentum, my lord. The comet’s reappearance is a relatively recent occurrence.’
The corpus-captain nodded slow thanks to the Epistolary. The Librarian would have made an able diplomat. Kersh had indeed been out of circulation for some time, but the psyker had only mentioned his duties at the far-flung Feast of Blades – and for this Kersh was grateful. He had not mentioned the time the Scourge had spent in the Darkness. Kersh allowed the index digit of his gauntlet to rest in the raw cavity in the side of his face. It had become a habit during moments of thoughtful reflection. Since losing his eye in the Feast, he had also taken to tapping the metal ball-bearing in the socket of his eye with the ceramite tip of his finger.
‘And what of these visionary distractions the company has been experiencing, Chaplain Shadrath?’ Kersh continued. ‘The Apothecary informs me that he has checked our water, provisions and life support systems for any evidence of tampering or neglect and has found none. I put it to you that there is some other explanation, perhaps the effects of this strange comet Melmoch speaks of.’
‘I believe the malign influence of the comet could be responsible,’ the Chaplain told Kersh evenly, ‘but I detect no signs of outward corruption or spiritual licentiousness. At present I have too little to go on to make an informed judgement.’
‘I am beginning to understand how you feel, Chaplain,’ Kersh retorted. ‘Well, while you reach a conclusion the rest of us will go on fearing for our eternal souls.’ Before Shadrath could reply the Scourge moved furiously on. ‘Brother Dancred, what is the status of the company’s Thunderhawks?’
The two power-towers reaching out of the back of the Techmarine’s adapted armour crackled and arced with energy. Dancred’s clockwork face whirred to life, the nest of Omnissiah-honouring cogs and pinions working in unison like a mask of gears.
‘Two of the company’s Thunderhawks are lost to us, corpus-captain,’ Dancred told him. ‘During the attack on Ignis Prime, the Inwitian was destroyed on the Chapter house landing pad. The Flagellant returned but has sustained too much damage to be saved. I have conducted the appropriate rites and appeased the fading spirit of the fallen machine. It will live on through the invaluable parts it will provide for ongoing repairs to the Demetrius Katafalque III and the venerable Gauntlet. The Impunitas did not partake in the original operation or the rescue on Ignis Prime.’
‘The Impunitas is our only functioning gunship?’
‘Yes, corpus-captain.’
‘Well, Brother Dancred, that simply will not do,’ Kersh said. ‘The Fifth Company will need all of its weapons of war.’
‘The Gauntlet is our oldest and most decorated Thunderhawk. Her firepower will be yours shortly, my lord.’
‘Make sure it is, brother,’ the Scourge said, and then a little softer, ‘and know your efforts are appreciated.’ The Excoriator turned to Ezrachi. ‘Have you had opportunity to inspect the gene-seed?’
‘Apothecary Philemon gathered the progenoids of the dead and dying at the Chapter house, as his solemn duty demanded,’ Ezrachi reported. ‘He lost his life to the Alpha Legion’s second ambush with Corpus-Captain Thaddeus. Squad Cicatrix had the honour of driving back the Traitor Legionnaires and recovering the bodies.’ The Apothecary nodded respectfully across the table at a smouldering Skase who, disarmed at such diplomacy, managed an almost imperceptible nod back. ‘In doing this Chief Whip Skase and his men saved the harvested gene-seed of their fallen brothers, and the company is rightfully in their debt.’
Kersh would not be drawn into the Apothecary’s placation. ‘The seed itself?’
‘In good condition and stored in the apothecarion frigocombs–’
‘And what of the brothers to whom the seed belonged?’ Skase boiled over. He stood, slamming the palms of his gauntlets into the surface of the table. ‘Who knows the price of their esteem? We taketh away. When do we giveth – that’s what I demand to know.’
Kersh burned into him across the stone. ‘Take your seat, brother.’
‘I will not.’
‘What would you give them, whip?’ Ezrachi cut in. ‘Was not their loss lamented in ritual?’
‘He does not speak of ritual,’ Chaplain Shadrath hissed.
‘He speaks of vengeance,’ Kersh said. ‘He speaks of a battle-brother’s gift to his fallen brethren: avengement.’
‘You have intelligence from the Angels Eradicant of Alpha Legion sightings amongst the petrified hives of Rorschach’s World, yet you do nothing,’ Skase accused.
‘You think I hide upon this cruiser – afraid to engage our enemies?’ Kersh seethed. ‘Filth to whom we have both lost so much?’
Skase considered his words. ‘You are the Scourge. You are victor in the Feast of Blades. You have not a cowardly bone in your body… and yet you have found one.’
Within the blink of an eye Kersh
was on his feet and had kicked his chair back behind him. Both Excoriators had their gauntlets to their weapons. Kersh gripped the hilt of his chainsword; Skase had his palm on the haft of his power axe, just below the dormant blade, ready to snatch the weapon from his belt. ‘Found your spine, Scourge? Going to cut me down with my corpus-captain’s sword?’
Kersh’s lip curled.
‘I have lived your pain,’ the Scourge told him honestly. ‘No one wants to face the Alpha Legion more than I. They have the Stigmartyr and I am honourless without it. I have pledged on the primarch’s blade that I shall reclaim it, but until I do the blood of those who lost their lives in its taking, and the attempts to reclaim it since, stains these hands.’ Kersh released his weapon and presented his palms to the squad whip. ‘Know that the loss of the Stigmartyr, for me, is more a punishment than you could ever devise. So be satisfied, loyal whip, for no more blood of the Fifth Company will be spilt here today – by my hand or yours. As corpus-captain, I will not permit it.’
‘That’s not good enough…’
‘Well, it will have to be, Chief Whip Skase.’
Skase looked about him at the frozen masks of alarm and expectation around the table. Releasing his axe, the squad whip slowly presented his own open palm and took his seat. ‘I have my orders,’ Kersh announced to the gathering, but his eyes were still on Skase, ‘and you have yours. The reason we do not make straight for Rorschach’s World to act upon this intelligence is because Chapter Master Ichabod has already designated our present duty. His orders take us to St Ethalberg. These are the chains of command,’ Kersh repeated from his earlier conversation with Ezrachi. ‘And they are binding.’ The Scourge let his words sink in. He detected faint nods about the table.
A bridge serf entered. Bowing before Kersh he delivered a whispered message to Commander Bartimeus.
‘We are about to make the cardinal world system,’ Bartimeus relayed gruffly.
‘Oversee the warp translation,’ Kersh ordered, prompting the Excoriators commander to follow the serf out of the oratorium. When the young Joachim and Squad Whip Ishmael got to their feet the Scourge turned on them. ‘Remain!’ he barked, causing the pair to sink moodily back to their seats. ‘Damned insolence,’ Kersh told them. ‘You will leave when you are dismissed and not a moment before.’ He turned back to Skase. ‘You forget yourselves but you can be forgiven, given the poor example set by your chief whip. Therefore, after due consideration, I have decided his punishment to be a three day cessation of ritual observance. Over this time he should consider himself unfit to don the mantle of Dorn.’
Chaplain Shadrath’s helm turned sharply. Ishmael and Joachim glared. Skase sat enraged but silent.
‘Mortification of the flesh is every Excoriator’s right,’ Squad Whip Ishmael shot back.
‘No, brother,’ Kersh returned, ‘it is not. Union with the primarch is a privilege and should be denied to those whose actions have proved unworthy of his ideals. I’m sure Chaplain Shadrath would agree.’
Shadrath said nothing.
‘Then I too volunteer for punishment,’ Ishmael said.
‘Seconded,’ Joachim echoed.
‘As you wish,’ Kersh told them. ‘Your confessed unworthiness is noted. The Chaplain will oversee the implementation of this punishment.’
The oratorium felt the cold sting of the corpus-captain’s orders. The chamber was silent. ‘Dismissed, brothers.’
As the Excoriators left, Ezrachi held back.
‘That could have gone… smoother,’ the Apothecary said. Kersh wasn’t in the mood, however.
‘Why don’t you devote your talents to the wounded pride of my officers?’ Kersh bit back.
‘I fear they are wounds that are already festering and beyond my abilities,’ Ezrachi admitted.
Kersh nodded, appreciating the Apothecary’s appraisal. The Apothecary went to leave.
‘I want you to accompany me down to the cardinal world,’ Kersh called as he reached the oratorium archway.
‘As you wish, my lord,’ Ezrachi said.
‘I need someone who can cut through the Ecclesiarchy politics and subtlety,’ Kersh admitted. ‘I haven’t the ears for Adeptus Ministorum guile and sermonising. I am not much of a politician.’
‘I think you have already proved that today,’ Ezrachi said, allowing himself a dark chuckle before disappearing through the arch. The bulkhead fell to closing and Kersh was left in the empty oratorium.
Looking down the length of the table, the Scourge found himself staring at the revenant, who had been there all the while, like a macabre ornament. The otherworldly eavesdropper sat still and said nothing.
‘What are you looking at?’ Kersh said irritably.
Chapter Five
Suspiriana Obligatio
The Thunderhawk Impunitas dropped out of the heavens.
St Ethalberg was a bitter, unforgiving world. As soon as the gunship broke the upper atmosphere it tumbled through a maelstrom of glass-shard gales and caustic snowstorms. Below, the planet surface was a stake trap of steeple-colossi, lofty towers and hive-shrine spires. A dark world of vertiginous devotion, reaching up into the chemical blizzard above.
Zachariah Kersh entered the cockpit. The helmscarl and his crew went to kiss their fists but the corpus-captain stopped them.
‘As you were.’
Kersh stared out through the hail-dashed canopy. Ahead was their destination. Carved from the frost-shattered peaks of the Vatic Heights was St Ethalberg’s administrative and episcopal capital. Here the monstrous pinnacles of the Palace Euphorica breached the clouds, the palace in turn nestling like a behemoth amongst the dark and forbidding sprawl of the grand cathedrals. It was from the daunting heights of the Palace Euphorica that the Ecclesiarchy provided spiritual guidance for the billions of pious St Ethalbergers below and for trillions more beyond the cardinal world and across the subsector. Highest of all was the bulbous tower known as the Pulpit, containing both the cardinal’s throne room and an Adepta Sororitas Preceptory.
‘My lord,’ the co-helmscarl called. Looking out to the left and right of the Thunderhawk, Kersh saw a pair of Vendetta gunships falling into escort position.
‘Identify.’
‘Ethalberg Inclements, fourth reserve.’
‘Defence force?’
‘Aye, my lord.’
‘Confirm our credentials and take us in,’ Kersh commanded.
Flanked by the local military aircraft, the battle-scarred Impunitas made for the landing pads that sprouted from the tower minaret like a crown. With the pock-marked Thunderhawk on the deck and Vendettas hanging with ominous intent in the sky like scavenging raptors, the Excoriators disembarked. Striding out into the cruel bluster of the cardinal world stratosphere, Kersh watched Scouts from Tenth Company’s Squad Contritus fan out with their silver-haired squad whip ahead.
Silas Keturah and his neophytes were all clad in their ceremonial carapace and dark, hooded cloaks, which streamed behind them in the relentless gales. They clutched slender sniper rifles to their chests. Each trailed a clutch of neat cables that disappeared beneath their mantles as well as large magnocular sights, laser guidance and long barrels terminating in a chunky muzzle, decorated with a fluttering Chapter pennant. The Scout squad took ceremonial flanking positions and walked the Excoriators party into the cardinal’s palace. For his unpurged sins, Kersh had Ezrachi, Epistolary Melmoch and Chaplain Shadrath accompany him.
Above the landing pad, amongst the busy Gothic architecture of the Pulpit, Kersh spotted gun emplacements and demi-turrets mounting heavy stubbers and autocannon. This didn’t surprise the Scourge. The Palace Euphorica was not only the cardinal’s seat, it was also the residence of the planetary lord. On St Ethalberg these positions were one and the same. The local defence force therefore had the responsibility of securing the palace perimeter, though they were rarely tolerated beyond its gates. Kersh looked up at a crow’s nest and watched the Ethalberg Inclements shiver in their Guardsman’s flak and
sink down into the moth-eaten fur of their lined jackets.
The Excoriators marched, dwarfed by the gargantuan archways, naves and vaulted aisles of the cathedral palace. They were greeted by a gushing wretch of a cleric-warden, whose responsibility it was to officiate the north-west advent-archway. Due to the altitude, and like everyone else who worked within the palace, the warden wore a smeared plas altitude mask. The warden chattered inanely as he led the Space Marines inside, the warmth of his breath a continual stream of white haze escaping his mask.
Inside the monstrous dimensions of the Palace Euphorica, flocks of ancient priests and miserable novitiates moved across the polished obsidian expanse like birds, while others emerged from the myriad confessional booths and private chapels lining the chambers. Muscular fraters in sectarian skirts and conical sackcloth hoods observed the Adeptus Astartes with obvious suspicion from the darkness of ragged eyeholes. Kersh observed the Redemptionists with equal suspicion, and in particular, the slung-straps and crescent clips of grubby autoguns that were protruding from behind their bully-boy backs.
The ambulatory along which they walked was punctuated with lecterns, pulpits and altars, while statues of all-but-forgotten saints and ecclesiarchs seemed to watch the Excoriators pass beneath their stony gaze. Behind these, at intervals along their path, Kersh spotted the gleaming darkness of the revenant’s plate – the deathless thing appearing much like a statue itself. The open space about the Excoriators was thick with the bass of devotional choirs and sibilant chanting, but the air itself was thin and gelid.
Through an endless succession of cavernous chambers, the Space Marines were led by the warden into the equally enormous palace throne room. Kersh snorted. A chill mustiness assailed his nostrils like the smell of bad meat in an ice-locker. The throne room itself boasted power-armoured sentinels: bolter-wielding members of the Adepta Sororitas. With their claret-coloured plate and dusty black vestments, Kersh recognised the Daughters of the Emperor as belonging to the Order of the Bloody Rose. He nodded his head at the Celestian in respect but found that his generous gesture was not returned.
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