Chapter 13
023.M42
Vespor, Huldah subsector, Syntyche sector
"And as she fought valiantly in this life, may she now rest, her troubles at an end. She has reached the Golden Throne and the God-Emperor's peace." Confessor Dimitri's mellifluous voice faded in the chapel as he finished the last rites over the shroud-covered corpse. The sanctuary's windows, covered in heavy black drapes, kept in the heat of the wax tapers, their glowing light doing little to dispel the melancholy. Only a single mourner was present besides the confessor, sitting in the empty pews, solitary witness to the funeral.
Confessor Dimitri bowed to the individual, closing the psalm book and brushing down his robes, conscious of the blood stains. "Lord Saeger, by your leave I will give last rites to our fallen warriors." At the door Dimitri gave a last look around the oppressive. "Shall I send for the new governor?"
Saeger half-turned to the holy man. Divested of his armour, he was only an old man weighed down by a lifetime of regrets. He absently issued his orders. "Have my transport ready to depart. I have work back on the Salva Nos and cannot waste much time with the governor."
The chapel doors creaked shut behind Confessor Dimitri, leaving Saeger holding a final vigil over Sabine D'Ebanne. He stood next to the shrouded body, unwilling to pull the sheet back to look at Sabine one last time. The wounds, he had been informed, were grievous. Hers and Atomy's bodies, recovered from the relic house under Saeger's orders, were given their dues. Sabine's remains were enshrined in the governor's private chapel while Atomy's corrupted body was burnt. Sabine would lay in state until her interment in the nobility's catacombs, and Atomy's existence wiped from all records, consigned to oblivion. Saeger thought such an end worthy for Atomy, but for Sabine's courage to never be known was contemptible for her calibre.
"You should have left Vespor with me," Saeger whispered, afraid to break the chapel's quiet. "You could have been so much more than a governor's wife."
A touch to Saeger's hand made him look down. Sabine's pale hand grasped his, the black mantle undulating as the dead woman drew breath. The Lord Inquisitor lurched back with a half-formed prayer in his throat. Sabine's corpse rose up, the shroud falling away, revealing her ruined face. She looked at him as thick gobs of blood and brain matter poured out from her ruined left eye. Saeger raised his hand to ward off her gaze, squeezed his eyes shut as revulsion churned through him. When he dared open his eyes again, Sabine's body lay undisturbed and unmoving under the velvet cloth.
Unsettled by his mind's fevered conjuring, Saeger touched his golden aquila pin. It was a simple gift from Sabine on her first day in his retinue, now the only thing to remember her by. Rubbing his forehead, Saeger whispered, "Just rest. Just rest now, that's your last order. Go to the God-Emperor in peace."
His body sagged in momentary weakness. The man allowed himself a brief moment of remembrance; then he resolutely turned his back on Sabine and left the chapel behind for the command center. It was only a corpse, he reminded himself; weak clay and brittle bones that all turned to dust in the end. Only the uncorrupted soul lived on. Mourning was weakness, and Saeger was not weak.
His greater work still endured. Ahriman's escape and the Dark Mother's continued existence were blots on his honour. A moment of frailty on the Lord Inquisitor's part could cost the entire Syntyche sector. Diligent, taxing work was required, unflinching sacrifices needed to halt the arch-heretic's plans. The rebuilding of Vespor was paramount; the forges could not stay cold nor could the factories silent when many relied on its production.
The hastily organized command center was located in the governor's throne room. Messengers were dispatched to Vespor's districts undergoing cleansing; aides hurried to their commanding officers; officers gave orders; city-side teams complied with new directives. Amid the bedlam stood the new governor of Vespor, less than twelve hours in to his employment and already showing signs of strain. There was not chance he could sit on the governor's throne, the furnishing moved for banks of consoles and hololithic displays on which reams of information flowed past.
Under the severe blue lights, everyone snapped to attention when the Lord Inquisitor entered the room. Saeger returned their salutes and approached the sanctioned ruler of Vespor, noting the man's harried expression. "How is your work progressing, Governor Castell?"
"It goes, my lord, and by the God-Emperor's will the task will be seen to the end." Eyelids heavy with fatigue, Castell motioned to the three dimensional model of Pytren Hive. "I have just received an updated list of survivors. By the saints, the people of Vespor have the will to endure. We are assembling them in the Triumphal Plaza camp where they will undergo mind-cleansing, then-"
Saeger took the data-slate offered him and before Castell deleted the contents. "There are no survivors, governor. Every inhabitant fought valiantly until the end, and all took their lives rather than live with the threat of taint rooting in them or future generations." Staring down the governor who, weighted under his new duties, had his resolve to protect the survivors crushed by Saeger.
The Imperial-sanctioned servant bowed. "What will happen to the upkeep of Pytren Hive? Who will work in the factories or forges?"
"Walk with me, governor." Pulling the man next to the window, Saeger looked down on the Triumphal Plaza. Sisters of the Ebon Chalice stood guard around the survivors, flamers and bolters held in sure hands, faces hidden behind helmets. Hundreds of people milled about in the weak morning light, looking for family and friends, exchanging gossip and harrowing experiences. Food and bedding were distributed, shelters being erected, and people began to believe the horror was behind them. There was almost a celebratory air among the camp.
"Lord Saeger, there are close to a thousand survivors. More will be arriving before the next cycle." The governor tugged on his ring of office. "A mind-wipe will surely-"
"Not on worlds like these with history as substantial as this. A mind-wipe will not cleanse the taint saturated into their flesh. Soon Vespor's factories and forges will grind forward again as refugees from the Aequitas Campaign settle here. A prefabricated world ready for them, prepared by the writ of Mars. Is it not written 'From the ashes we arise, powdered by the dust but stronger, for we alone have seen the folly of the corrupted'? A taint, no matter how small, will bloom, Governor Castell."
"A wondrous prefabricated world," agreed the governor. He looked away as he saw the Sisters of Battle mobilize.
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Do not delay in paving the way for the future. As governor of Vespor and leader of Pytren Hive, you must give the order." He handed a comm-link to the sweating man and left the command center's gloomy atmosphere. Walking down the ruined Grand Venue to the shuttle platform, Saeger heard the ring of bolter fire and screams drift up from the Triumphal Plaza.
023.M42
Iridescent Blade, Huldah subsector, Syntyche sector
Gren rubbed the sleep from his eyes and did his best to ignore the pain in his stomach. The apothecary – was it Yannis? – had sutured Gren's wounds, remarking on the man's luck. This happened only after Yannis stabilized Amara Kith, the apothecary sweating and red-faced on the Iridescent Blade docking bay with a medicae team ready. Yannis had injected a copious amount of bluish liquid in Kith as she was rushed to surgery. Now as the antiquated machines hissed and whirled quietly, Gren waited for her to wake up.
In the room's low lighting, Kith's face appeared deeply lined, nearly ancient, but a softening was happening to her features. Every time he glanced away and back, Gren saw her grow younger. What rejuvenate had Yannis given? What concoction had the power to do that to a person?
As though sensing someone watching her, Kith's eyelids weakly open. She was alert despite the drugs flooding her system, green eyes blearily focusing on Gren. "So I wasn't hallucinating." Her voice was muffled by the respirator she wore.
"I'm as real as the hair under your arm," Gen replied, then winced at his choice of words.
Kith looked around the medbay and the row of empty cots, over to the observation window and figures bustling past before examining the stump of her left arm. Dark, blood stained bandages held tubes which snaked from under the dressing, connecting to the machines that fed her pain suppressants. More tubes were studded along her neck and chest. She stared vacantly at the loss of her arm, her breath catching in her throat. Blinking furiously, she turned to Gren. "How long was I unconscious?"
"A few hours. Your pilot flew us back and you were taken here immediately. You've lost a lot of blood, but your apothecary knew what to do. Patched you up and-"
"Kept me alive," she finished. "Now I join the ranks of crippled Inquisitors. I hope my desk job has a decent view of a pond."
"Saeger needs every Inquisitor in the field. Think of this as… an opportunity for an upgrade," Gren said humorously. "You can have a bionic arm with a custom built-in bolter. Or one that conceals a blade?" The medical equipment burbled and hissed, the sounds uncomfortable. Gren tried again. "At least you know how you'll look when you're old."
"Who was the Eldar?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject.
"An ally," he answered cautiously. Rubbing soot from his cheek, then giving up, Gren eased back in his chair, careful of his abdomen. "We all have our allies, Kith."
She snickered. "Does Saeger know about this one?"
"Does he know about your pilot's heritage?"
Amara Kith held her tongue. She looked back to her bloody stump. It could have been worse, she kept telling herself. "Gren, why were you on Vespor?"
"Why were you there?"
"Saeger's orders." Gren nodded, indicating his reasons were the same. "My mission was to capture or kill the Dark Mother." She held back on saying more, but narrowed her eyes at him. "You aren't telling me something. There's no reason for Saeger to have risked both of us on Vespor. What was your exact mission?"
He felt a need to tell her the truth but refrained. Outwardly Gren remained calm while his mind scrabbled to construct a believable lie. Thankfully his comm-link chirped, allowing him a respite. Walking a short distance away for privacy he answered, "Inquisitor Gren."
"The Lord Inquisitor demands your presence aboard the Salva Nos," an anonymous voice informed him. The link buzzed once and closed. Gren looked over to Amara, regarding him with an unnerving sense, making Gren consider she heard every word.
"Duty calls," he said with false humour. "My advice is don't ask too many questions about my orders. Don't bother knowing why I was on Vespor, just be grateful I was there when you needed me. Remember you once said you trusted me? I ask you trust me now in this."
Amara pushed herself up from the cot, pulling against the I.V. tubes. Fresh blood leaked from where the tubes connected. "What are you not telling me, Gren? What's Saeger not telling me? Just tell me the truth. I deserve to know!" She pulled off her respirator, coughing sputum and blood. "Don't you dare treat me as a child, Gren!"
Gren shook his head. "My silence keeps you safe." He turned his back on her, wincing as something heavy and metallic hurled to the ground behind him. He started for the exit, moving carefully, mindful of the state of his numerous wounds. They were nothing compared to Kith's.
"Don't walk away from me!" she shrieked. The machines monitoring her physiological activity began beeping. "Don't you dare walk away from me! I can't trust you when you lie to me!" She heaved herself over the side of her cot with her remaining arm, screaming as the I.V.'s ripped from her stump, and she collapsed as her legs gave out. Yannis pushed past Gren into the medbay, Sister Ursula limping after the older man, her left leg in a metallic brace.
Gren watched the battle maiden hold a thrashing Kith down as Yannis sedated her. The Inquisitor turned his back on the scene and walked away.
023.M42
Harlequin Council, Webway
In a forgotten corner of the Webway, past crystal spider webs and glowing plants, the Rillietann held court inside a den made of minerals and memories joined together. For a troupe seen by outsiders as merry, full of laughter and music, their meeting was a sombre one. They stood in trial around the Death Jester whose armour was shredded and flesh heavily scarred.
"Gren tries our patience," the Shadowseer intoned. His words echoed in coloured patterns down the Webway. "He takes advantage of the generosity shown to him and assumes the Rillietann will accommodate his plans to ours. Does he not know what we are capable of when tried too far?"
"I could not allow Vespor to be destroyed," Margorach snapped. "We preserve life, not allow for its wilful destruction. The planet could not be left to the mon-keigh's final judgement."
"Why?" the Shadowseer's question hung like a scythe, falling silently when Carrenad read the base emotions rising from the Death Jester. "So I see. Your judgement was misaligned by your past. Did you forget that you create a new story from the moment you joined the troupe? There is no more Taekaedr."
"My judgement was true," snarled Margorach. He rose to his feet as anger washed over him. The wraithbone under him changed to a burnished red; then, realising what he had done, the warrior prostrated himself before the Shadowseer and troupe.
"You are a deviant to the highest degree, even by our standards," Ehidril, the Great Harlequin of the troupe, said disdainfully. "One day others will not grant you the same leniency we have. You try your family's patience."
"The show must go on," Shadowseer Carrenad continued. "From the moment begun on Maharra, our troupe's fate was set. We cannot abide fate to run wild." The Harlequinade turned their masked gazes from their leader to the mute Death Jester. Raising himself from his abasement, Margorach nodded.
"Fate is arduous but the price will be paid. Gren will fall in with the Rillietann's plans."
023.M42
Salva Nos, Huldah subsector, Syntyche sector
Saeger reviewed data-slates in his stateroom, signed for aid requisition from the Adeptus Mechanicus, ordered Inquisitorial storm trooper deployment, and confirmed cleansings across Vespor. When he finished the Lord Inquisitor surveyed the paperwork arrayed across his desk. He did not trust the momentous task to his aides, preferring to do it himself. Otherwise there was too much room for error. There was too much room for error. And there was the urgent issue of calling the Syntychian Conclave when he returned to Hyeinsa.
A soft chime announced Inquisitor Gren's presence moments before the door opened to admit him. Lord Saeger raised falsehoods; the lighting dimmed, the murmur of background noise and the distant rumble of the Salva Nos engines were silenced. Appraising Gren's ragged appearance and bandages, the Lord Inquisitor clapped his hands. "Praise Him on Terra for your survival. I can only begin to imagine the harrowing experiences you endured. But the saints watched over you, and your mission was a success due to your faith, willpower, and the strength of your allies."
"My ally," Gren quickly corrected, stomach clenching in fear. He had erased Margorach's presence from the Stormbird's databanks, hadn't he? "The Lady Sabine D'Ebanne, may the saints rest her soul," Gren continued, "died fulfilling her mission."
Saeger made the sign of the aquila at the woman's name. "Yes, and she will be mourned, but your other ally was the God-Emperor. He guided you to Inquisitor Kith. You saved her and escaped with your lives. Truly He on Terra watches us, knows our trials, and delivers us from our tribulations. You both fulfilled your duties admirably, Kith to a lesser extent than yourself. Now," Saeger extended his hand, palm upward. "Do you have the relic?"
Stitched abdomen shrieking in pain as he withdrew the lockbox from his cloak, Gren rested his fingers on the wraithbone case, asking what weighed on his conscience. "Will Vespor be purified after this Chaos incursion?"
Saeger scrutinized him. "No, not to the extent Inno was. While an agri-world is a deep loss, Vespor's utter cleansing would cripple the Syntyche sector. The planet is too valuable to char, but the inhabitants' purity will be carefully weighted and measured. Don't trouble yourself about it, Gren. They are not your concern."
Gren slid the lockbox to Saeger. Saeger touched his aquila pin at the same time his hand rested on the wraithbone casing. He would not open the blighted thing to examine the relic, but felt the power held in check.
"What you found came at great difficulty and cost, Gren. For a time we have halted the enemy's power by controlling this artefact."
"I was warned-"
"Your xenos friends counselled you. They do not hold sway here." Saeger held the lockbox in both hands, felt the immense psychic weight, tasted the history behind it and felt it curl through his mind like oaken smoke. "And what they spoke of about this relic were over-imaginings, no doubt based on deluded myths and legends."
Emboldened, Gren asked, "Then what is the truth to this artefact? After being sent on a mission to a world than almost killed me, I have a right to know. If you truly trust me as you did when I was your student, you would tell me. Knowledge will only aid me in fighting the enemies of the God-Emperor." Gren was taking a risk, a calculated one, and he realised that in some way he was pantomiming Amara's earlier protestations.
Immediately he knew he had overstepped his tenuous bounds. When Saeger spoke his voice was so quiet Gren strained to hear it. "Knowledge comes with a price, and this price is greater than most. Can you shoulder this burden and not falter, I wonder?"
"I will."
Saeger assented when Gren would not back down. "Our lives are not important, only the survival of the Imperium. From this moment on you will fall in to step to my every order without question. You will comply with every task I set before you, every mission. The Great Enemy has been seeking this for a long time, and we must do everything in our power to stop them."
"The ones who made the casing," Gren pointed to the intricately carved wraithbone. "Their seers might know where it is and believe they are better suited to protect it. What if they come to claim it, Lord Saeger?"
The Lord Inquisitor barked a laugh. "I have fought against the bastard sorcerer Ahriman and won. What would the Eldar send against me that I could not defeat? The God-Emperor watches my every move and protects me." Saeger stood, cradling the lockbox in one arm, and paced his stateroom. "Can the Eldar materialise from thin air and pluck this from my hands as we speak? I will not fail in the securing of this artefact, Gren."
"Your crusade is admirable, Lord Inquisitor, but to bring the Eldar's attentions to the fact you hold this relic would be foolhardy."
"Be careful, Gren. The search for this relic began before even the legendary time of the Great Crusade, before the Emperor's light shone to every corner of this galaxy. Long before Inno was colonised, ages before Imperial colony 1034 was even known, the Eldar were looking for this." Saeger stood still, fervour devotion lighting his eyes. "Glory to He that knows of our struggles and illuminates the path we must walk."
"Imperial colony 1034." Gren felt an icicle of trepidation slide down his spine. "You were looking for it even then, back when you sent me on my first assignment. How many other pieces are there?"
"Three; I speak with absolute conviction that Ahriman holds one piece. Already he is searching the final piece. That miserable serpent won't dither on his path." Saeger turned to Gren, gesturing to a space beyond his office. "What I am certain your allies kept from you, Gren, is that this relic's origins are not Chaotic, nor the trickster Eldar. It precedes them, and its makers are less than motes of dust now. Your allies think they are capable of protecting it, that it is their birth right. But they arrogantly assume too much. Look at their withered strength, how their empire fell. Ours, Mankind, is strong. We shall see to the galaxy's safety where the older, more arrogant races, thought they could master divinity."
Gren's face took on a waxen pallor. "What is its purpose?" Margorach and the troupe had remained tight-lipped over the Vaenosis' true nature. Better he learn from his mentor than a xeno's convenient half-truths.
Saeger spoke distantly. "The exact history's gone with the destruction of Jollana Librarium. What remains are these simple facts. The artefact was sundered into three pieces. By themselves, they are fragments of a greater whole. Together…" Saeger looked down at Vespor's obscured surface. "Psykers, the bane and salvation of the Imperium."
"I don't understand, Lord Saeger."
"A psyker might become a vessel for the divine, given their level of strength. By the grace of this artefact, purified before the Golden Throne, the Emperor Himself may be restored on Terra. What contains the essence of the divine is deathless. That which is deathless never leaves, only waits to inhabit a new form." Saeger's lips pressed into a thin line. "I have your next assignment ready," he announced. "Just as Ahriman has his nets cast, I must do the same."
"So soon? I should heal before..." Gren stepped back as Saeger rounded on him, pure anger lighting the Lord Inquisitor's face.
"Chaos does not sleep. Neither shall we!" Saeger's tone was brusque, his face dark. "You will mend on your journey, every drop of blood you shed and every scar you bear a mark of honour. Get yourself from my sight before I martyr you here."
Shaken, Gren bowed and hastily retreated.
Saeger returned to his work, the relic within arm's reach. He would not leave it unattended until it was safe in the Inquisitorial Palace on Hyeinsa, warded and locked away deep underground. It was much later, days after Gren's departure from the Salva Nos and the last purging had begun on Vespor, when Lord Saeger visited Amara Kith. He arrived in secret to the Iridescent Blade, handing orders for the captain's eyes only before he deigned to visit the convalescing Inquisitor.
Kith woke groggily. Even through the haze of drugs, she knew someone was watching her. She visibly stiffened when her mind caught up to her surroundings and saw Saeger, standing like Death itself, over her cot.
"I evaluated your medical records and battle report given by the Sororita. You pushed yourself past your limits. Were you trying to kill yourself?" Saeger regarded Amara in contempt. Her physical appearance surpassed his own advanced age, yet there remained the wilful defiance her youth brought.
"I was trying to kill someone who did a good job of stopping me," she replied. "Come to tell me when you're throwing me back to the wolves?"
"I have come to pay my respects to one who has valiantly fought, even if they fell short of a simple goal." Saeger came around to examine Kith's wound. She drew away from him. "Worry not about the loss of your left arm. I will see to its replacement."
Kith weakly pushed herself upright. "You knew. You knew the Dark Mother was Katea Kith. My cousin. You kept the truth from me."
The corners of Saeger's lips tugged upward. "Truth is narrow but error is broad. Truth doesn't contradict; if there is conflict with another then only one will be right." Saeger towered over Amara Kith. "Where is your proof against my truth, Kith? Show me."
She bristled against his caustic voice. "The records you kept, the information you gathered, every little kernel you knew about the Dark Mother. Katea was in the same cell as me, I saw her taken. So of course you knew who the Dark Mother was from the start, but you just didn't want to test how far I could use my ability, you wanted to see if I could kill my own cousin. The heretic, my blood, you wanted me to destroy her!"
Saeger watched one of the machines cycle and purify Kith's blood. "I remember telling a little burnt girl in a cage to steel her anger and that it would take her far. She has lost sight of her goals and oaths to the God-Emperor. To the Imperial truth." The Lord Inquisitor regarded Kith. "Do not forget the Imperial truth nor mine. The only family you have is the Imperium. Remember that first and foremost."
"You manipulative bastard."
There was mirth in his tight, sardonic expression. "I do what I must. You have new orders: to recuperate. The captain will take you to Tevana in the Eliator subsector. I believe you have earned this sojourn. You're much too fragile to risk yourself at this present time."
"Are you saving me for a bigger part on your chessboard?" she spat.
Saeger nodded. "Indeed, you're far more valuable than the pawns currently out to play."
023.M42
Khermuti
The past melted into the present, diverged out to numerous futures as the Immaterium roared through the collapsing vortex. Raw energy assailed Ahriman; gibbering wails from hungry daemons assaulted him, jaws clacking short of the sorcerer's aura. Shielding himself and Neferuaat, they hurtled from the vortex, back into the Khermuti summoning hall. Their sudden and violent entrance collapsed the vortex, the unstable psychic wave shattering milk-white herkimate crystals. The Rubricae and sorcerers guarding the large chamber were thrown against the far wall, the last of the serfs obliterated to dust. Ibhar, twinned to the gateway physically and psychically, was obliterated under the psionic onslaught.
Neferuaat scrabbled away from Ahriman, tumbling into jagged herkimate fragments. Pandemonium raged as Neferuaat crawled across the floor, eyes weeping fire, herkimate crystal cutting the palms of her hands while her psionic dissonance crashed through the amphitheatre.
"I can still feel them!" she screamed "They're trapped on Vespor! Their souls can't get out, can't leave! My children, my children! Ranoehk, help me find the children!" Neferuaat's shrieks rose in pitch, her mental discord increasing in each breath.
Somewhere a klaxon began shrilling, announcing a Warp breach elsewhere on board. Ahriman wove a kine shield about himself while cables snapped throughout the ancient ship, metal screeching as unseen forces tore through it. His visor cracked when an invisible blow hammered through his defences, bringing him to his knees. He could not deal with every threat on the Khermuti, but he could halt the source of the manifestation. Ahriman ordered a cruel command as he stumbled to his feet, reweaving the kine shield.
The Rubricae rose and lumbered toward Neferuaat. Bolters raised in silent accord. One Rubric Marine moved closer to wrestle the frenetic psyker down, but was reduced to charred armour plates when he touched her. A Rubric Terminator strode forward, powerfist crackling with blue lightning. Raising his powerfist over the sorceress's back, the Rubric's arm swept down in a blinding arc.
It never connected. Frozen in mid-motion, the Rubric's green lenses dimmed as the ghost's consciousness was subverted. Osis Pathoth entered the summoning hall, the calm in the storm's eye. He looked neither to Ahriman or the crumbling tiers of herkimate crystal, only to Neferuaat. Under the vizier's control, the Rubric Marine stepped back. Pathoth knelt by Neferuaat's side, forcing a thought of composure into her frenzied mind before attempting to hold the thrashing woman. She stiffened, then slumped forward soundlessly. The nimbus of unnameable colours surrounding her faded, attesting to the quietude in her mind. Cradling his daughter, Pathoth aetherically scanned her blood-stained body. Neferuaat was sound and whole, but the dark wound in her mind lay open, raw and bleeding, the scab gone. Pathoth frowned as suspicion crept over him.
"She needs sedation," Ahriman stated, his vox distorted over the klaxon's wail. He approached as though a daemon would erupt from the sorceress. "And placed inside a psycurium chamber."
"Concern yourself with the Khermuti and its beings. The Meskhenet cannot aid you if an infection overtakes your vessel." Effortlessly carrying Neferuaat, the Chaos Space Marine headed for the exit. "Your mission failed, as with most things you embark on. Do not place the blame or your failings at Neferuaat's feet."
Ahriman stopped him. "Neferuaat must be assessed physically and psychically after the stresses endured on Vespor."
"No poisons or tinctures will be administered to her, Ahriman, not now or ever." Pathoth stepped past Ahriman, herkimate crystal crunching underfoot, heading toward the doors.
"She was talking about Ranoehk. Tell me, Pathoth, what do you know of that failed acolyte of mine?"
Pathoth thought he heard the rattle of dry bones on the aether, the shuffle of tired feet drawing close. It took a great effort for the vizier to not look over his shoulder. "He died years ago."
The klaxon was turned off at that moment. Pathoth's words rang out all the louder in the destroyed hall. Ahriman directed his gaze to the shattered platform where the Warp vortex had been. Dark Mechanicum swarmed through the summoning hall, picking their way over debris and corpses to the panels to calm the agitated spirits.
"The Lord Inquisitor of this sector was there. He," Ahriman chose his words with care, "was troublesome for a mortal."
"You lost your prize."
"The relic piece fell through my hands for the moment. This is merely a minor setback. Already the future weaves are beckoning. I will choose the most promising."
Pathoth would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so dire. Knowing the relic Ahriman chased, the power and terror behind it, time was slipping away to counter the grand sorcerer's schemes. The Lord Inquisitor's interference was only a stumbling block, a small respite at best. "Bested by a mere human. Our father will not be glad to know."
"Magnus need not have this brought to his attention. The Inquisition is hardly a thorn in my side here, and you could not fathom the plans that are in motion across Syntyche at this moment." The condescension in Ahriman's tone dared the vizier to question him. His unflinching egotism made Pathoth's lips curl.
"Indeed." Pathoth matched Ahriman's pride, not falling for his trap. "You do not have my imagination or foresight for such grand patterns, or devotion in the Architect of Fate."
When the silence stretched out, taut enough for far worse to be unleashed behind it, Osis Pathoth nodded to Ahriman that their conversation was finished. The vizier left the summoning hall and the Khermuti with Neferuaat. Once aboard the safety of the Meskhenet, and only when Neferuaat was in her quarters, awake and alert, did Pathoth start his questioning.
"What happened to the children you brought with you?" he pressed. The air in the room grew oppressive, charged with energy and turning dark as Neferuaat was forced to remember. Shadows flitted through the panel of mirrors on the chamber's far side, hands pressing against the cold barrier. Curled at the base of the bed, Argos hissed at the phantoms.
"They were shot!" Neferuaat sobbed. Her bandaged hands ripped at the blankets, blood staining the bedcloth. "All of them shot by that black armoured bitch! I couldn't save any of them." She made a low, keening wail, and curled up on her side, refusing to be consoled.
Suppressing her frantic aura, Pathoth grasped the woman's head gently in his enormous hands. He locked eyes with her, Pathoth's swirling kaleidoscope meeting Neferuaat's glowing blue and black sclera. Very slowly the sorcerer asked, "They died? Only that and nothing more?"
Neferuaat's only answer was to cry and wail louder, not believed by the one person she wholly trusted. "Where's Ranoehk?" she asked in a plaintive voice.
"There is no one by that name aboard the Meskhenet. He left a long time ago. You know what."
"Then find him and bring him back!" she roared suddenly. One of the mirrors shattered inward, shards becoming nothing. "He promised he would be here if needed. I need him to protect the children!" She squeezed her eyes shut. "We still need to find Katea. You do remember that girl's been missing for a long time, father. I promised to find her. Ranoehk promised to help me, and so you must find and return him to me."
The crevasse in her mind oozed vile ectoplasm, poisoning her grip on reality. Threading his consciousness to Neferuaat's mind, Pathoth examined her wounds and confirmed with acrimony what Ahriman had hinted at – that he knew of the witch's debilitating state. He continued past her damaged psyche, beyond the black hole he knew too well, and gazed into her memory.
He felt the Inquisitor's nullility rip open the mind's wounds, saw the Adepta Sororita pitilessly fire on the children, how Neferuaat became the conduit through which the Empyrean's power burned everything it touched. Flitting back to a moment, Pathoth studied the refracted memory and the children caught in it. They remained as dead flesh. Nothing birthed from their ruined forms.
Osis Pathoth had known the most basic truth from the first moment he encountered Neferuaat. All Alpha-plus psykers were mentally unstable. The insanity of their powers, nestled in weak bodies and combined with a mind not as evolved as other psychic races, drove them to madness. Even the greatest succumbed, a candle burning too brightly in the Warp. It was only a matter of time until Neferuaat fell into the abyss, her flame snuffed and her mind screaming to be healed without a known cure.
"You must rest." Pathoth made her lie back down, shushing her cries. He brushed her long hair back, the gesture reminiscent to when he consoled Neferuaat in her youth. "I will take care of you, daughter. I will always take care of you."
Child-like shades slithering from the mirrors and across the floor toward the Dark Mother. Argos uncurled himself and leaped at the spectres in one soundless, graceful movement, claws shredding the threats. Padding back to his mistress, the Gyrinx curled him huge form beside Neferuaat. When Neferuaat's breathing was deep and even, Pathoth erased Neferuaat's memories as he scoured them for the truth, taking the most horrendous moments. In the morning Neferuaat would remember almost nothing, vague suspicions that would fade in time. Just as before.
An urgent telepathic missive brought Pathoth from his thoughts, and he ordered Argos to guard Neferuaat as he left. Walking with purpose the vizier hadn't felt in centuries, Pathoth arrived to the Meskhenet strategium to find one other Chaos Space Marine present in the wide chamber. Upon sighting Osis Pathoth, the jackal-helmed Thousand Son immediately bent to one knee.
"I have come as ordered, Lord Pathoth. Forgive this Son his lateness."
The new arrival watched Pathoth walk to each corner of the strategium and raise barriers to silence sound and ensnare psychic eavesdroppers. Each motion was deliberate, each glyph drawn in the air containing a powerful trap, and by the way the vizier moved, the Thousand Son knew whatever the situation he was being drawn in to, was grave.
Gesturing for the man to rise, Pathoth said, "You can remove your helm. Unless the Architect sees it fit it remains in place. Now tell me, what grand tale do you have to cover for your lateness?"
"My luck holds," the Son replied. Removing the jackal helm, the marine squinted his eyes against the harsh wychfire light, angular features untouched by Tzeentch's mark. "And I would never lie to someone as eminent as yourself, Lord Pathoth. The Warp saw it fit that I took a detour through an Imperial blockade… and a cruiser."
Pathoth nodded, amused by the reply. "Belail. Unchanged since I last saw you on Maharra. Truly Tzeentch jests in your existence. But where is your half-breed companion? I threw her over the side with you for a reason. Have you killed her?" Standing over the stategium's table, Pathoth raised a hololithic map of the Syntyche sector. A golden icon, indicating the Meskhenet, moved toward the sector rim.
The liar twitched under Pathoth's critical judgement. "I didn't, though the thought crossed my mind many times. She's in a jail somewhere, I presume, or fighting in a scum pit for all I care. It was a personal hell to be stuck with that pilot for so many years until I got rid of her. The only reason I didn't murder her was that the Tau don't look lightly on that sort of thing, and the paperwork would have been extensive. Does it matter to Kelvenia's whereabouts?"
"It well could." Pathoth gestured for Belail to step forward and examine the map. The Khermuti, a dull red, stayed floating in the void, too preoccupied with its troubles to question where the Meskhenet travelled. "You inquired on Maharra when I would reveal my actions, why I am forced to Ahriman's company and be his watch dog. Now the time has come. You must be ready to follow me." His voice dropped to a hissing lilt. "There's loyalty that protects secrets and loyalty that protects the truth. Which do you serve, Belail?"
Belail looked squarely at his liege. "I serve whatever is best for you, my lord."
Pleased with the answer, Pathoth asked, "When were you last home on the Planet of the Sorcerers?"