The Beast Arises

The conversation turned into an exchange of cant. As inhuman as the sounds were, as still as the two priests were, Yendl read an intensification of the conflict. Then Urquidex turned away, and started back up the ramp leading out of the bowl.

Urquidex said nothing on the journey back out of the Labyrinth. They emerged from a gate whose massive, sigil-inscribed iron doors parted just long enough to let them through and sealed with a metallic boom behind them. Urquidex chattered in cant to his retinue and his subordinates scattered on their appointed tasks, leaving Yendl.

‘Have you understood?’ he asked.

They kept their voices low, though that meant little in a society where augmetic hearing was the norm. Van Auken had accused Urquidex of taking risks. You have no idea how big they are, Yendl thought. She saw the delineations of heroism in Urquidex’s quiet actions. ‘I understand very well,’ she said. ‘Does the Fabricator General know how to stop the orks?’

‘My data on that point is inconclusive.’

‘But if he does, he has no interest in doing so.’

‘Our knowledge base is growing exponentially. The Veridi are therefore an opportunity, not a disaster.’

Yendl suppressed a curse. ‘The teleportation project must be halted,’ she said.

‘That is impossible, unless you have the means of an invasion at your disposal. Nor will I raise my hand in disobedience.’

‘Then why show me all this?’

‘So you can take the action necessary.’

‘You just said the project can’t be stopped.’

‘It can be slowed.’

Yendl nodded. A delay would help. If it were long enough, Kubik might lose his window of opportunity. Circumstances and Vangorich might be able to intervene and force the Mechanicus to fulfil its duties to the Imperium. The hope was weak, and based on shifting ground, but it was Yendl’s responsibility to grasp it. Shifting ground was both the terrain and the goal of the Assassin.

‘If moving Mars is a question of power,’ she reasoned, ‘then an attack on the Grand Experiment’s energy plant might result in a serious setback.’

‘That is so,’ Urquidex said. ‘I will never cause it harm.’

‘But if you were to be followed, without your knowledge, to its location…’

‘That would be a singular and unforeseeable event.’

‘We have need of many such events, magos,’ Yendl told him. ‘We have had enough of being their victims.’

Nine

Phall — orbital

Koorland was in his quarters, working on his armour. There were limits to what he could do on his own to repair the damage. Bohemond had placed the armoury and forge of the Abhorrence at his disposal, and Koorland would make use of them in due course. But the last Imperial Fist would first exhaust his skill alone. He could not wage war in isolation, but his acts as an individual mattered. So he would make his efforts at restoration count.

His seals of purity were gone. There was nothing to mark his history of battle except the damage itself. He had no wish to expunge all the scars. Doing so, he felt, would be to erase the final tangible memory of his brothers. It would be an act of denial. He was resolved to return to the battlefield with the price paid by the Imperial Fists visible to the foe. He would be announcing to the orks his survival, and the measure of what he would exact from them. The gold of the Chapter would shine again, but with the marks of its resurrection and the demands of vengeance.

He would permit no blemish to the crimson aquila of the breastplate, however, or to the badge on the left shoulder. The black fist would have none of its power diminished.

Koorland was oiling the aquila, seeing the edge and fury return to it in lustre, when Thane appeared at the doorway. Koorland looked up from his work. He saw the look on the Fist Exemplar’s face. ‘What is it?’

‘An ork moon over Terra.’

Koorland had thought he had experienced the limit of defeat. He had believed that he had plumbed the depths of failure, and perhaps taken his first steps towards redemption. After the last meeting of the Successors’ council, he had even allowed himself to feel hope for the first time since Ardamantua.

He’d been wrong. Thane’s words were blows. The shame of failure clenched his left hand over the edge of the worktable and crushed the steel. An abyss rushed up to swallow him. He fought it back. ‘What forces are there to mount a defence?’ His voice was distant.

‘Very few. The bulk of the Imperial Navy is still some time away.’

‘And our brother Chapters?’

‘No better. The greenskins have the sons of Guilliman tied down fighting them across Ultramar. The Blood Angels have destroyed another star fortress, but they are on the other side of the Imperium. The Space Wolves, the Salamanders, the Raven Guard… We have reports of massive engagements across the galaxy.’

‘This is a plague.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Thane agreed. ‘Three companies of the Iron Hands are making for Terra, at least, though they have farther to go than we do.’

‘Has the invasion of Terra begun?’ Koorland asked.