Incantator Congressus Chapter 32

Former Inquisitor Dago hated his new position, he hated everything about it. He loathed bowing and scraping to a Daemon, he hated being reduced to grunt work, he hated the cause he fought for and the plan he was helping enact. But most of all he hated himself. Dago had been tricked, lured into heresy against his will but still he could have fought and died nobly. Yet when the moment of crisis had come he had faltered, bending the knee to Chaos. That fact he hated above all.

Dago stood in the Fulcrum and watched sullenly as his new master made preparations, no, his owner. Harbinger seemed so frail and unimposing in that little body, someone he once would have battered senseless with his bare fists, but contained within was unfathomable evil and depthless power. Dago suspected Harbinger knew how much his new servant abhorred him, and revelled in that resentment. Dago would love to sink a knife into his back, but the Daemon was cunning and probably expected such treachery, in fact the filth was probably counting on it. Dealing with Daemonic lore was enough to drive one mad, driving many learned savants into gibbering insanity as they tried to unravel the twisted knots of lies and misdirection. So Dago figured his best bet was to simply follow along and see what happened, and maybe, just maybe he would see some way to turn the tables.

"I will see you soon," Harbinger whispered, then let go of the Vitality Communion, which faded as its energies were expended.

"Did they fall for it?" Dago probed warily.

"No, but then I never intended Arvael to accept the bargain," Harbinger chuckled, "Wheels are in motion that the foolish could never understand. Those dullard Librarians do not know it, but all roads now lead to the Fulcrum. The fates align into paths that lead inexorably to my victory."

"Our victory!" Ozymandias spat from his crystal effigy. The hated Daemon Prince was keeping out of reach, a smart move in Dago's opinion, but seemed interested in the outcomes regardless. His servant, the diminutive woman in the revealing robe hung nearby and Dago did not like the way her eyes lingered on his muscled physique. Her robe was enticingly open down to the naval and her lips glistened redly, yet the look she bore was not one of an adventurous woman but a snake, one eyeing a mouse for consumption.

Dago shook off her attention and asked, "What now?"

"Next we prepare our ritual," Harbinger explained.

From the sky fell the shimmering disc of their flying steed. It trailed wisps of rainbow flame in its wake and the sight made Dago's skin crawl. Yet upon its back stood the fixed statue that was Echeb, trapped in his stasis-shell. The Chief Librarian was unable to think or act, a non-event in space-time, without any ability to interact. Dago didn't know what was planned for the trapped Psyker but as the Disc settled he scoffed, "You realise as soon as you pop that shell, he'll attack. He nearly beat you once as I recall."

"Except now we number two," Ozymandias countered.

"Oh ye of little faith," Harbinger snorted.

The Daemon took the second of three small philtres from around his neck and reached out his arm. The skinny limb passed through without trouble, passing into the pale light of stasis. Dago's jaw fell as the Greater Daemon casually bypassed all physical laws, there was no time inside that bubble, no potential for action and yet he reached inside without a hint of distress. Even Ozymandias looked sullenly impressed as Harbinger extracted what he needed and withdrew. He held up the philtre and declared, "Blood of the 33rd Psyker Son, another key ingredient. When the time comes we sacrifice Echeb's life and send forth our curse."

"Finally," Ozymandias spat, "Now we dispose of Jubila!"

"In time..."

"No now! He is a slippery one and I dislike letting him roam free. I have waited long enough, he must die."

Harbinger breathed out wearily and asked, "As you will, I shall have my Possessed converge on his location."

Ozymandias hissed, "No, not Possessed, they proved ineffective. I want surety."

Harbinger tapped his lip thoughtfully and mused, "Perhaps Holdfast can provide an answer. The Kinebrach were not without defences of their own..."

Dago felt his stomach flip and muttered, "You two figure it out, I'll go sweep the perimeter." He turned his heel and strode off, leaving the pair of Neverborn to plot the death of the warlord. His boots stomped on the cold ground as he wandered away, not really looking for anything but merely wishing to be far away. Angrily he trooped to the far side of the clearing, standing before the maze that had been erected around it. He crossed his arms and glared, fuming on events and chewing on his mistakes.

Suddenly there was a soft tread behind and a smooth voice uttered, "You shouldn't go in there, you won't last long."

Dago spun about and found the sorceress Rebre standing behind him, her smile revealing small fangs. She had followed him, that was obvious but her meaning was lost on him and his hackles rose at the sight as he sneered, "What do you want?!"

Rebre passed a delicate hand over a fallen menhir as she sighed, "Talk is so dreary and I grow bored. I am a consort of Slaanesh, I crave sensation as much as any other. You are a fine specimen of a man, perhaps we could explore our mutual interests."

"Stay away from me," Dago spat in disgust.

But Rebre reached a hand to her shoulder and parted her robe enough to reveal what was beneath. Dago instinctively looked, but he dragged his eyes back up to her face and growled, "If you think this is seductive the Callidus have a thing or two to teach you. Forget it, I'm not touching you with a five-metre stick."

Rebre didn't seem put out as she closed her robe and quipped, "I never thought you would, but I wanted to test your reaction. You are an interesting paradox, clearly body-proud and violent, yet sworn to the service of magic and intrigue. You hate your master, that's hardly novel, yet you smell... new. Yes, you are new to the ways of Chaos."

Dago half-turned away and muttered, "What's it to you?"

"Much," Rebre crooned, "Tell me more."

Dago glared but sullenly admitted, "I dreamt of overthrowing the tired old priests running the Imperium and replacing them with men of action, but I was tricked, led astray by lies and illusions. I thought I did the God-Emperor's work but danced to the tune of a Daemon. I betrayed my Imperium, subverted my Ordo and killed good men. By the time I saw what I had done it was too late and I was damned."

Rebre sniffed, "Hardly compares to what most Inquisitors do, and still consider themselves righteous."

But Dago spat, "I failed the test! The Daemon was before me, I could have died on my feet, defiant and brave. Maybe death would have redeemed me, maybe not, but I would have died proud. Instead I chose to live, a coward too afraid to face his judgement."

Rebre smiled as she guessed, "So you decided to embrace your damnation, but you did not think to pick your hell."

"What do you mean?"

"You are new, the Changer has yet to sculpt you to his will. There's no reason to side with Tzeentch, when Slaanesh could offer you so much more."

Dago glanced across the clearing and hissed, "You speak so openly?"

But Rebre smiled, "Harbinger isn't the only one who knows some tricks, we can speak freely of your future allegiance."

Dago was outraged and spun about to snap, "You understand nothing of loyalty!"

"Loyalty?!" Rebre laughed, "From a self-proclaimed coward and traitor. You are funny. An ally is simply someone who hasn't betrayed you yet, this is the way of Chaos. Understand Ozymandias and Harbinger both expect the other to betray them the second they cease to be of use, they wouldn't be Daemons if they weren't scheming treachery."

Dago spat, "You aren't making any of this sound appealing."

Rebre countered, "Truthfully, do you think sorcery is the path for you? Trolling through dusty scrolls for spells, dripping poison into cups and steering idiot cultists from afar. You are a man of action, you have the drive and will to succeed, you would find another god far more agreeable. Khorne would welcome you, but you seem to desire a cause to fight for, not the bloodshed for its own sake. Nurgle is disgusting. Slaanesh however can make your dreams live. If not wine and women then the adulation of millions. Perhaps even perfection itself, you could become the greatest warrior who ever lived, if you agree to aid Ozymandias in outmanoeuvring Harbinger."

Dago was given pause by that idea. The offer was tempting, but more than this he hated Harbinger passionately and would love to see that filth cast down. He couldn't beat a Greater Daemon, but perhaps another Daemon could. This might be the way out he was looking for and revenge certainly held its own appeal. Carefully he eyed Rebre and asked, "What do you propose?"

"A little push when the time comes. Harbinger has outwitted himself and over-reached."

"I don't follow," Dago hissed.

Rebre sighed, "Tzeentch's great flaw is that his servants are as convoluted as he is. They have a compulsion to create the greatest intrigue, bigger and more tangled than any others, the complexity of their schemes is a goal in itself. Harbinger's vision is grand and yet in dreaming up this elaborate plan to use the Gladius Incandor, he has overlooked a much simpler way to kill Guilliman."

"What?!" Dago cried.

"Oh yes!" Rebre laughed, "The Daemon forgets that Fulgrim planted the poison in Guilliman's blood, and still feels the bond of the killer to the killed. Ozymandias is of Fulgrim's bloodline, he shares a connection with his sire, he can be the link we need. We have the Fulcrum, we have the bloods and a sacrifice... we don't need the Gladius Incandor, we never did."

Dago's head spun in disbelief as he gasped, "You don't need the Gladius... you can kill Guilliman at any moment?"

"Not with Harbinger in our way," Rebre sniffed, "And if he figures out what he's missed, he will turn on us. We need to eliminate him first, then strike."

"I..." Dago uttered, "I didn't think it was possible, not really. Deep down I thought the Daemons would bicker and fight, the loyalists would outwit us somehow. That there would be some last-minute heroics to stop the ritual, as the Imperium has always seen before. I never believed we would actually get away with it."

"It is a heady rush," Rebre chortled, "To do the thinkable and know no one can stop you."

"No..." Dago breathed in realisation, "There's no one who can stop you, not anymore."

"Good, then you've picked your hell," Rebre laughed, "Welcome to the winning side."

Dago nodded numbly and whispered, "I see it all now."

"Wait for our signal, you must make sure this stays secret. When the time comes you will know what to do," Rebre affirmed then swished away, leaving Dago behind.

The man stood with his head downcast as the news sank in. The harsh truth tearing away his veneer of lies and self-deceit. He had said he embraced damnation but saw then he hadn't, not truly. He thought he could turn the tables, find some edge on the Daemons, some way back to his old life. He thought he could save the galaxy and clear his name; a fool's dream, he saw that clearly at last. Chaos was going to win, they were always going to win, and his doom was unavoidable. All that was left was the question, would he accept it? Shorn of his delusions the truth of Dago was revealed: he was a soldier and all his life he had fought. That the fight could not be won had never mattered, all that was important was the fight itself, the defiant will and selfless courage of the common man. He had forgotten that, concerned with thoughts of his own survival, but knowing that his doom was inescapable, he at last remembered who he was. Dago was a soldier and soldiers kept fighting no matter what, after all others gave up, they kept battling on.

Dago's fists clenched as he growled, "I'm destined for hell, but that doesn't mean I have to go quietly. If they want my soul then I'm going down swinging, God-Emperor as my witness I'll claw and bite them every inch of the way. Even if I can't stop them, I can throw a spanner into their schemes... and I know exactly who to call."