Exitus Ultima Chapter 10
"I'm worried about the Captain," Furion said quietly.
"He does seem in low spirits," Smyth agreed.
"Downright despondent is what he is," Persion added, "I've never seen him lacking such animation."
"Whatever he saw, it robbed him of his fire," Dreadnought Novak concurred.
Arvael heard their concerns but kept quiet, feeling the hollow vacuum in his chest where his hearts should dwell. The Librarian had known something was off but never had he imagined the scope of it to be so vast. The Librarius' attempts to scry for danger had come up short, their vision had been blinded and their imagination lacking. Roboute Guilliman lay dying and Arvael could blame no other than himself.
Bereft of purpose he had returned to the Third Company, but found them equally morose. Barracked inside a burned-out Basilica in Dramacus city-state, the Space Marines dwelt. Physically they tended their duties, repairing armour, performing patrols and polishing their weapons. But their spirits were hollow. Arvael didn't need to scan their minds to know it, he could see it in the lethargy of their motions, in the lack of banter between Brothers and the thousand-kilometre stares in their eyes.
Captain Toran was no better. The leader of the Third had returned to the Company without a word, and secluded himself in his offices. That wasn't like him, he was a leader concerned with the morale of his Marines, one who regarded their heroism above his own, for him to abandon his squads like this spoke of a terrible wound to his spirit.
Persion shook his head, "The other Companys are scattering across the planet, seeking answers but we just sit here and cool our heels."
"They blunder about aimlessly," Smyth argued, "They are doing nothing but spinning in circles looking for answers."
"It's better than sitting here!"
Furion sighed, "I share your frustration, but without a lead we can achieve nothing."
"Easy for you say, you'll be leaving the Company soon," Persion snorted.
"Do not test my patience," Furion growled, "Not today."
"I'm not a scout-novice to chide," Persion retorted, "I've known you for two centuries, you're too uptight to do anything but harp platitudes."
Furion gripped his Crozius hard, "Amazing, two hundred years and you don't know me at all."
A shape loomed over the pair, the Dreadnought stepping between the pair, "This is hardly the time for infighting."
"Out of my way," Persion hissed as his augmetic hand pushed uselessly at the Dreadnought's leg.
"Look what you've gone and done now, you've only gone and made me the voice of reason. Me!"
"We are not amused by your antics," Furion growled.
It was then that a cold voice cut in, "Let them fight, maybe they'll kill each other before everything ends in fire." Eyes turned to Jediah who was sitting on an ammo crate. His unique half-plate was quiet, and his cold gaze was as forgiving as a hungry wolf's. He was turning his Fractal short-sword over in his hands, examining the edge with keen interest. The Lieutenant had been silent till now, but his words cut deep.
"Care to explain that remark?" Arvael asked.
"I mean what I said," Jediah replied, "It's over, the Primarch is about to die, and with him goes the galaxy. The Crusade will fail, the Imperium will collapse, and the Storm Heralds will burn. Might as well find a way to die that suits you."
"You speak the counsel of defeat," Furion snarled.
"I speak reality," Jediah uttered, "We all know things are falling apart out there."
"Surely not," Smyth argued, "The Lord Commander left contingency orders, plans in case he was eliminated."
But Jediah snorted, "His plans failed, and whatever he thought would happen without him was a dream. If he meant to build a structure that could last past his death, he failed."
Novak declared, "Then we go down fighting!"
"Fighting, or praying, or cowering, we die all the same."
"And what do you suggest?" Persion retorted.
"I think I'd like to find the Alpha Legion bastards who did this and carve my name into their hearts."
"If we could find them then we wouldn't be sitting here," Furion snapped.
"Actually," Arvael interrupted as his psychic senses tingled, "Something might be happening on that front."
Everyone looked at him askew but Arvael nodded to where a pair of Reivers were closing. With them walked Mayra, the mortal agent barely reached their waists but walked with her head held high. Many helms turned to follow her with curiosity as she passed the squads, many unspoken questions hanging in the air. Arvael sensed an aura of excitement about her and dared to dream she might have something to tell them.
"Summon the Captain and don't take no for an answer," Arvael told Smyth.
"What if he won't come?"
"Then I'll send Novak to pick him up and carry him, but he needs to hear this."
Smyth scurried away but Furion scowled, "Brother-Sergeant, who is this?"
Sergeant Gotram answered, "Unknown, but this serf came to the perimeter with missives from Chief Librarian Echeb, she refused to divulge the information to us."
"I'm not a serf!" Mayra spat.
"She's not," Arvael agreed, "But she is an agent for my master."
Persion blinked, "We have agents, since when?"
"The less you know the better," Arvael deflected, "Suffice to say the Librarius draws information from many sources. Mayra, you bring word?"
The woman replied, "I carry vital information from Echeb, and a mission."
"A mission, out with it!" Novak exclaimed.
"Not in front of others, I must speak in private."
Another voice cut in, "Anything you have to say, can be said before all my Brothers!" Arvael spied Captain Toran striding towards them, his head high and armour gleaming. To any who did not know him well it would be a picture of a driven and committed officer, firm in purpose and conviction. Only the slight clench of his jaw revealed the burden of sorrow that laid upon him, and the fact his left hand never released the hilt of his sheathed sword.
Mayra looked about the circle, and a suspicious quiet fell in the basilica, "I may have a lead, one of my agents uncovered something. Cardinal Gresham, the vile traitor who poisoned the Primarch, we've been digging into his past and might have found a connection."
"Then let's get going!" Novak exclaimed.
"Hold," Toran commanded, "You come to my door with strange tidings, I would hear more."
Mayra took out a small Hololith, that fit into the palm of her hand, and illuminated a flayed corpse, "The cur's body has been taken apart by the Inquisition's finest chirurgeons. They've peeled his skin off and run it through every kind of analyser they have. His bones have been cracked open, his organs flensed, his nails pulled. Every atom of the man was examined for clues and none were found... but it was a more mundane item that gave us a lead. See his attire, right here this ring they pulled off his hand, it bears the signet crest of the Gresham bloodline... only it's a fake."
"A replica?" Furion mused, "How strange, it's not like he could conceal his identity."
Arvael explained, "A signet ring of a Terran bloodline is a strong proclamation of allegiance, to lose it is to shear away from one's own family. The Traitor surely knew we would discover the forgery, with this act he disavows any connection to the Gresham household. It's as good as a suicide note saying he acted alone."
"Shouldn't have bothered," Persion snorted, "The Inquisition will tear that household down to the foundations, not a scullery maid will be spared the excruciation rack."
Toran's one eyebrow furrowed as he wondered, "Strange that an operative of the Alpha Legion would make so bold a statement."
"Familial ties are hard to break," Furion explained, "Whatever bribe or leverage the Chaos filth applied, some lingering affection remained in the traitor's spirit. He wanted to spare his kin any repercussions."
"Affection may prove his undoing," Mayra announced.
"Explain that," Toran commanded.
Mayra put away the Hololith and reached into a pocket and fished out a small object. She handed it to Arvael who saw it was the signet ring. It sat in his gauntlet like a shiny stone plucked from a beach, so small and yet laden with history. A thrill of excitement ran through him, potential unfolding in his mind's eye. A tiny link to the Traitors, an avenue of exploration at last.
"Where did you get this?" Arvael pressed.
"One of my agents runs a pawn shop in the slums, someone walked into his shop three weeks ago and sold him this. The agent had no idea what it signified at the time, but the man was desperate to get rid of it. He flogged it for a fraction of its value, anything to make it disappear."
"Why not destroy it?" Smyth asked.
"Adamantium core, covered with tungsten-gold alloy," Arvael explained, "A plasma cannon would be needed to melt this, and you won't find many of those in the slums."
"The bloodlines of Terra really want their trinkets to last," Novak commented.
"Never mind that," Toran urged, "This man, do we know where he came from?!"
Mayra nodded, "That's what I've spent the last twelve hours digging up. He's had a face-change but I know he's an enforcer for the local Vettia boss."
"The who?" Persion asked.
Arvael explained, "Sacellum is in essence two worlds, the Cathedrals of the Ecclesiarchy and the slums at their base. The Cardinals rule the spires but the dirt is owned by a criminal cartel of thugs, racketeers and extortionists. They run gambling and drinking houses for not-so pious Pilgrims, not to mention controlling every single brothel and street-whore. The Vettia are ruthless and power-hungry, and they own the lower world. Many a Pilgrim has wandered into the wrong street and never been heard from again."
"The Ecclesiarchy put up with this?" Smyth started.
"They get paid a lot of bribes to look the other way," Arvael explained.
"Typical," Persion snorted.
Furion rubbed his chin, "Three weeks ago... that's before the Chaos uprising even began. Yet this Vettia boss was desperate to wipe out any connection to Gresham. That implies he had some notion of what was about to happen, maybe even played a role in it. He might have some information about the poisoning attempt."
"Telmarg is the name of the boss," Mayra answered, "And he's gone to ground, good job too, the Inquisition raided his base of operations two hours ago. But I know where he hides."
"You found him, when the Inquisition could not?" Jediah queried scornfully.
"We've had centuries to build up our network across the Saint Karyl Trail, we locals know these planets better than any outsider ever will. As for your next question, Telmarg extorted the use of a villa for his collection of mistresses, secreted in the fourth spire of the Shrine of the Emperor's Healing Grace. Echeb's got all his Librarians digging into possible Vettia connections but he wants Arvael on the man himself."
Toran straightened up, "Quickly to the gunships, all squads prepare to deploy!"
"Hold!" Arvael barked, "You are not taking a Battle Company to run down one man!"
Everybody froze as the Librarian and Captain squared off and Toran hissed, "Third Company shall not stand idle!"
"Yes you will," Arvael uttered firmly, "This is no battleground for Transhumans to war across. This mission requires subtly and circumspection, it is a Librarius matter."
Toran glared, "I have given you broad latitude in the past Arvael, overlooked your order's inaction during the civil war, but this is too far. We will not sit back as others try to save our Gene-father."
Arvael was not deterred, "If you care for his well-being you will. This mission requires a scalpel, not a hail of bolt rounds. I will go alone."
"You will not," Toran growled angrily.
"Your presence will ruin everything," Arvael hissed, "Do not make me turn my hand against you."
"You wouldn't dare lift a hand against your Brothers," Toran snorted.
"You have no idea what I would do in the name of duty," Arvael snapped, "The hard choices I have had to make, so you don't have to."
The tension mounted as all looked on, but then another said, "I'll go then."
"Jediah?!" Toran started.
"The boy needs backup, but not an army of rampaging squads. Give me my Reivers, and one Overlord gunship, we'll see the mission complete."
"You are asking for a lot of trust," Toran averred.
"When have I ever failed?" Jediah countered.
"True, I have never known you to falter Brother," Toran allowed, "Arvael, is this acceptable?"
Arvael wasn't happy but said, "One squad only, the Reivers at least know how to be quiet."
"Then we accept your judgement," Toran stated, "You shall chase this clue in our name and follow it wherever it leads. Move fast though, our Gene-father lays dying and with him the survival of a galaxy. All mankind looks to you in this hour, you hold the last guttering hope of our Imperium in your hands."
Arvael nodded solemnly, "I thank you for the trust you have shown in me, I will not fail and when I find what we need, I will call for you."
"Make sure you do," Toran agreed, "No matter what dangers Realspace or the Warp throw at us, nothing will stand between us and your side. This I swear, for the sake of our Primarch and of Him on Terra."