It was a simple enough plan.

Jury rig an amplifier for a technology that we did not fully understand to allow a talking sword to point is to some medicinal so as to find our assassins.

...Well It does not sound as simple in those words.

I was surprised that the king agreed to the plan.

"I thought that you were merely gifted with medical matters," Iseult commented as she rummaged through the royal workshops.

"I am full of surprises," I said while reconfiguring the mechanisms of an old communication device.

"A bit more than that," Merlin commented.

I would never get used to being a Primarch. It is hard to articulate but the best closest I ever came to expressing it was to say that 'my brain is smarter than my mind'. It was odd to crack open a foreign machine and instantly understand what I needed to do.

Whether it was a mechanical or biological machine mattered little in that.

As I worked over the device with the girl and the machine it occurred to me that I was getting closer to understanding my brothers.

It was easy to be arrogant as a flawless autodidact, someone that not only learns on their own but does so without flaw and at a shocking speed.

The same joy and urge to learn that came with flesh and herbs was not in the metal and wire though. I wondered if that was my creator's subtle way of encouraging our specializations. It would be a pretty clever way to go about it, what better way to go down a path than to find everything else relatively dull.

I frowned at that thought as I clicked a cluster of drives into place and pressured one of the scraps Iseult handed me into pieces.

No… that did not work. A number of Primarchs enjoyed a great number of pursuits beyond their primary specialization.

Perturabo had almost as many hobbies as invaluable personnel he killed in a fit of temper. Magnus was insufferably proud of a number of fields beyond undermining his own cause. The Khan was nearly as good in many forms of art as he was in calligraphy. Guilliman was a master of countless fields beyond excelling at the family sport of being abrasive.

Was I projecting my own condition onto my kin?

That would be depressing, being the only Primarch that enjoyed only two things.

Because all Primarchs enjoyed warfare to some extent.

Huh…

"That is progress I suppose," I said.

"I did not hear you, what is it?" Iseult shouted from the depths of a scrap pile.

"Nothing," I shouted back while tossing away a powerless pack.

"Objection," Calyburne chimed. "You said something."

"Just an idle thought, do not mind it," I waved off the sword.

Well if admitting to a fondness for bloodshed could be called idle.

Eh, I blame genetics, I chuckled internally.

I stripped the outer casing from a viable battery and resorted to wire connections and fixing it into the case.

"So we are assuming that they use a code that you have access to," I noted while moving on to the amplification segment.

"No," Merlin said. "There is no need for concern, the code generation follows a predictable algorithm among AI programs loyal to our polity. It will take a few hours once the device is ready. You merely need to hurry."

"We are doing as well as we can!" Iseult shot back with some uncharacteristic irritation.

"True," I acknowledged while going about my artifice.

I was anticipating what would come once we had a signal of course.

…

Less than four hours later I was running down the streets of the capital.

On most days I imagined that the bustling streets of cobblestone would be lively with the traffic of half a million citizens going about their business. Day labourers looking to make their living, guildsmen arguing about the technicalities of fees with traveling pedlers and little crowds around preachers hearing the sermons of the local faith.

That was not one of those days.

Apparently the king was receiving no small amount of petitioners requesting that transhuman giants do not run across their roofs and threaten to bring the structure down over their heads.

So instead I disrupted the general human traffic while tracking the Orcus Platinum through Merlin.

Unfortunately I was sure that a giant in mail with a drawn sword running at the speed of a horse was more disruptive in the streets than on the rooftops.

"Make way," I shouted at repeated intervals to prevent a human stampede as I wove through the crowds at top speed. The mechanisms answered the signal by activating and the supplier would surely wonder why his supply was unlocking and by extension spoiling, so time was rather urgent.

"Left!" Merlin relayed as I turned on a dime on a busy street and shot into a thankfully empty alley.

The alleys were unfortunately narrow and I had to slow my step minutely to prevent my shoulders from carving the faded brick and mortar of the walls.

I felt like the victim of a world with little to no urban planning.

At points I would find myself ducking under ill thought out expansions on houses and at others I was forced to leap over piles of trash, sometimes I would be forced to do both in a feat that would qualify me for a Olympian medal. Well, it would if a number of the modifications in my body were not crimes against science and nature.

I was nearing the main harbor when Merlin stopped pointing directions, "Warning, we are almost at the targeted area."

That was all I needed to slow down my pace just a touch and to prepare for an ambush, as much as I could without sacrificing my advantage and allowing the prey to escape.

Prey… well it was a hunt. Being a touch bloodthirsty is hardly a great sin when I was pursuing those who were actively working against me and even attempted to kill me.

"Are the devices moving?" I lowered my voice beyond what humans could hear.

"No," The AI. "Speculation, they might be attempting to fortify their location. Given your speed it is reasonable that they did not wish to risk moving the devices while they are active."

"They might have abandoned them," I suggested before frowning. "No, Fear Gorta are too complex to be disposable. They would not allow so many of their agents to parish by abandoning the Orcus Platinum."

"Reasonable," Merlin allowed although their was an uncharacteristic annoyance in its tone. "Observation, given the uses of the substance. It is intolerable that they would waste it on assassins."

I did not bother pointing out to the intelligence that they might prize assassins more than the general well-being of people. Merlin's gestalt was not suited for that sort of reasoning, Mendicant Onyx was meant to orchestrate fleets, the Stalwarts to understand and fight what was beyond human and Beneficent Silver was meant to nurture and administer. None of the intelligences that formed it were meant to find the reasoning behind the Fear Gorta acceptable.

I heard them around me before Merlin chimed quietly, "Warning, they are around us. Six hostiles."

"They are not attacking," I observed as I walked between a row of warehouses. Huge dilapidated buildings of steel that remained from when Wygalois had been a port. "They are not even trying to hide."

They were shadows over the distant roofs, allowing themselves to be seen by the sun and with distantly audible steps where they had not made so much sound before.

"I wonder if they are trying to lure me," I mused. "They do not strike me as particularly reckless creatures and one of them knows what fighting me is like."

I licked my lips in thought at that.

There were two possibilities and either was certainly possible.

The first option was simple, it was indeed a trap. It seemed horribly unlikely but powerful people often had a difficulty in admitting that they were outmatched and it was possible that I was overestimating the creatures.

Option two however, there was potential in option two.

I came to a stop at the entrance to a particularly shabby warehouse, three stories of weathered and oxidized metal that looked one strong wind away from doom.

Even from behind the structure I could tell that I was in the worst part of the docks. The stink of the city was much worse here to the point where it transcended being a mortal stink to the odor of pure human misery.

"Lovely place," I chuckled sourly as I opened one of the old back doors and walked inside.

The vast warehouse was largely empty and the light poured in though dozens of windows.

Six windows however were occupied by the hunched form of a Fear Gorta suspending themselves against the frame.

At the center of the room was a small stack of crates and a single, robed figure.

"I do wish that you would have given us a more formal notice of your visit," It said with a high pitched and child-like voice. It was also short, I idly guessed that it was perhaps a quarter past a meter if that. My senses idly registered the scents of medical substances, voice and hormones to pierce its attempt at disguise by noting sex, age, health and so on.

"I do believe that I gave you plenty of warning," I offered politely as I walked forward. I did not need to look up to see the eyes of the Fear Gorta following me. "I sent a signal, did I not."

The boy's laugh was a ringing thing.

"I suppose you did at that," He allowed.

"You must be very confident in your assassins' abilities," I noted as I neared it.

I could smell his fear in the air of course (an incredibly strange thing to be able to do) but the boy kept his composure flawlessly.

"I am afraid that you overestimate us," The boy's laugh reminded me of pealing bells. "We are well aware that we have found our match."

"A last stand then?" I stopped a few meters from him and rested Calyburne over my shoulder.

"Again," The boy spread his hands to his sides in a shrug. "I am afraid that you overestimate us. Our trade is that of night, we are no warriors, Oathmaster."

I raised a brow at the use of my unconfirmed title.

The Fear Gorta were tensed but did not seem to be making a move to attack.

Option two it is, I smiled slightly. "You wish to talk then?"

"Very much so," the boy laughed awkwardly. "We are prideful in our work but we were misinformed in this case."

There's an understatement, if the profession had any legal standing I would be encouraging them to sue their contractors for misinformation.

"I do not mind your attack very much," I shrugged before letting my annoyance drip into my tone. "On me. But you also conspired to kill a supporter of mine and the master of the Silver."

And the other men wounded my wife, but I did not mention that part of my grievance. Anger aside, I was no fool and the Fear Gorta did not seem the type to hire help.

"And we have done neither!" The boy assured me while taking a step forward. "If the Guildmaster was attacked, then I would assume that our employer has hired additional aid again but I ensured that our own role was stalled when the misunderstanding came to my attention."

Well that was interesting, also unconfirmed.

"Breaking a contract," I tilted my head. "That cannot be good for business."

"Neither are unexpected losses," the boy offered. "And my employee believes that continued conflict with you can only lead to further unpleasantness for both sides."

"And now you are threatening me," I frowned.

"I merely state fact," the boy shook his hands. "I have no doubt that you would emerge triumphant but I like to think that we would stand to at least inflict some injury around you. You must allow our order to retain some professional pride. It is a key matter in our field."

I ground my teeth in thought, They really are lucky that I am not my brothers.

"So you want to bargain for ceasing our little conflict?" I asked.

"Just so," He snapped his fingers in some unfamiliar hand sign. "Why make a foe when you can make a friend, yes?"

Despite myself I smiled slightly.

"Very well then," I nodded. "Talk."