Even as a bloody, merciless war was being waged in the depths of Hive Primus, twin celebrations were taking place in the highest spire of the sprawling metropolis.
As far as Cassandron's human denizens were concerned, the Governor's assassination had been the doing of vile mutants, which would be answered with all due force. Although the arrival of the Protectorate's envoys had been broadcast planet-wide, the feed had cut off with the arrival of the Brood : despite their corruption, the Nergalites were still Vampires, and possessed the same ability to disrupt all means of electronic surveillance as the rest of their kind. With so many of them present, the servo-skulls had been completely blinded, rather than simply unable to detect them as might have been the case if only one or a handful had been there.
The official announcement had blamed heretic sabotage for the blackout, although the question of why a group willing to murder the Governor wouldn't want their deed to be seen by as many people as possible had been promptly ignored. It had then gone on to assure that the food relief of the Protectorate would still arrive, and that the logisticians were hard at work planning the distribution of supplies and the deployment of the technology offered by Cassandron's new off-world friends.
The Governor's successor had officially ascended to the position early today (Cassandron's laws allowed for remarkably quick and painless transitions of power – at least among the humans : things were quite different for Vampires). Like all of his line for over a score generations, he'd been raised with some knowledge of the Covens, and the possibility of joining them if he distinguished himself in the service of the world's true masters had been forever dangling over his head.
Of course, while it wasn't unheard of for a Planetary Governor to receive the Gift, it was still incredibly rare. Besides the risk of drawing Imperial attention, Governors were used to wielding near-absolute power, even on Cassandron, and tended to react poorly to joining Vampiric society, stripped of most of their prestige and power. Still, it was possible the new incumbent would be one of the lucky ones – stranger things had certainly happened, and several just today.
With the succession ceremony over (at least the important, legally binding part : there was still going to be weeks and weeks of paperwork and rituals to go through), Cassandron's worthies were mingling in the great halls of the Governor's spire. There, they played the petty games of intrigue, alliance, seduction and betrayal that kept the Imperial nobility of a million worlds occupied.
By the end of the night, there would probably have been at least a dozen affairs, twice that many secret pacts sworn, and twice again that number of feuds declared between rival families. But you wouldn't have thought it looking at the smiling, painted faces of the aristocracy, none of whom sported any of the bionics common on other Imperial worlds – a small quirk of Cassandron's nobility which had surprised some off-worlders, but hardly counted among the strangest local traditions of the Imperium's million worlds.
To reassure the population that everything was under control and proceeding as normal, the celebrations were being recorded by servo-skulls and broadcast across the planet, which, of course, meant that the Vampires couldn't mingle with the mortal elite, lest their nature interfere with the broadcast. That was fine : they had their own, far more significant gathering to attend.
Within sun-proofed rooms that didn't appear in most maps of the spire, the deathless rulers of Cassandron had assembled. Akivasha's awakening, the Brood's resurgence, and the death of the Planetary Governor were, each on their own, events that would have shaken the Covens' politics to various degrees. Both of them happening at the same time, combined with the arrival of off-worlders bringing desperately needed food supplies (and led by such a figure as the Black Commissar, no less, whose infamy had reached all the way to Cassandron), had sent shock-waves through their entire society.
Every Coven had sent representatives to this party, whose official purpose was to celebrate the Ancient's return and cement the Covens' alliance with the Protectorate, even as their combined forces prosecuted the cleansing of Primus' underhive. Each of Cassandron's hive-cities was home to a small embassy of the other Covens, of course, but these had been reinforced by dignitaries from their respective Covens, who had made the trip to Primus aboard private, sun-proofed transports.
Now, Akivasha was granting audience to these visitors one by one, accepting their tributes and renewed pledges of friendship between the Volkihar and their own Covens like the warrior-queen of some feudal planet. The ancient Vampire sat on a throne that had been crafted for her use only millennia ago, and taken out of storage especially for tonight. The dress she wore had also been taken out of storage, where it had laid within a stasis field in order to preserve the priceless fabric for the centuries of its owner's slumber.
Looking upon the Ancient, you wouldn't know that she'd awakened only hours prior. Usually, it took many, many liters of human blood to fuel the reawakening of a Vampire of such esteemed age and power, and returning to complete awareness was a matter of weeks, if not months. Yet Akivasha had been returned to her full power in a matter of moments, and that, too, was the source of much gossip and speculation among the Covens. Although if Akivasha herself knew how such a thing was possible, she hadn't said anything about it, merely playing the part of an Ancient in Vampire politics with consummate ease.
Meanwhile, Isabella Volkihar, elder of the Volkihar Coven and Progeny and spouse of its Regent, smiled as she exchanged pleasantries with the Rogue Trader Areelu Van Yastobaal and the Protectorate envoy who had introduced herself as Krystabel, leader of the Handmaidens of Emeli.
The three of them were sat on luxurious chairs in a side room to the main chamber where Akivasha was holding court. Portraits of the Coven's most renowned members hung from the walls, each the work of a master. As paintings were the only way in which the Vampires could see their own image after receiving the Gift, Cassandron had long boasted a number of very talented artists, whose works were in high demand across the entire Damocles Gulf and beyond.
As she sipped blood from a crystal glass to accompany her guests' own, more conventional refreshments, Isabella inspected the other two women without making it obvious. She had met off-worlders before; she had even drunk from them occasionally, her bloodline's predilection for mental manipulation making it easy to erase all memories of her feeding and replace them with those of a pleasantly exhausting tryst with a local beauty.
But few of them had registered as healthy to her senses as the Slawkenberg envoys, and none as tantalizing as the Black Commissar himself, in those few moments she'd been in his presence. If not for the presence of Lady Akivasha right next to Cain until he'd left for the underhive, Isabella might have found it difficult to hold herself back from having just a taste. As it was, her instincts had kept her from doing anything which might be construed as encroaching on the Ancient's territory.
Both Areelu and Krystabel were curious about the nature of the Covens. While her dear Vlad had shared some of the more practical aspects of Vampiric nature during the preparations for the ongoing military operation in the underhive, there hadn't been time to go into the finer details. And so, Isabella had taken it upon herself to introduce the Covens' new allies to some of the subtler aspects of their hidden society.
Such a course of action would obviously have been forbidden under most circumstances, as the Covens took their secrecy very seriously. But things had changed with the Imperium all but officially abandoning Torredon to the shadow cartels, and in any case, the Protectorate was made up of heretics and rebels against the Golden Throne.
They still needed to keep up pretences for the general population (no one was quite sure how the humans would react to knowing, without any doubt, that they were ruled by a mutant race of immortal blood-drinkers, but the smart bet was that it wouldn't be with calm acceptance), but being open with the Protectorate's leaders could only be a good idea. Especially since their fleet vastly outgunned Cassandron's SDF, which was meant only to prevent piracy within the system.
"So, you were human, once ?" Areelu asked, picking up where the conversation had paused as they all took a sip of their drinks.
"Indeed," Isabella replied. "All of us were, until we earned immortality in the eyes of our Maker. In my case, it was my dear husband, Vlad, who brought me into the Volkihar Coven."
"Is that common ?" asked Krystabel, raising an eyebrow. While Areelu was far from ugly, Krystabel radiated a dark charisma that was the equal of any Turel Vampire – the fruit, no doubt, of her dedication to the Dark Prince. Idly, Isabella wondered how such an allegiance might affect the taste of her blood : the cults of Chaos had never had much of a presence on Cassandron, save for the Brood. "I mean no insult, but it sounds like a somewhat frivolous reason."
Isabella chuckled. She'd heard the same thing many, many times, phrased much less politely – and at least the Rogue Trader had the excuse of ignorance.
"Oh, I assure you, I earned the Gift just like anyone else. And Vlad didn't propose to me until I'd been a Vampire for some time. To do anything else would have been extremely gauche. After all, sharing the Gift with another is not something lightly done, for a multitude of reasons."
"I think I can guess some of them," said Van Yastobaal. "With all Vampires being immortal, population control has to be tight."
"Yes, but not as much as you might think. There is blood aplenty on a hive-world, and turning someone else into one of our kind is a difficult process, not something done lightly. In addition, not every Vampire lives for long : some just aren't suited for this existence, or fail to measure up to their Maker's expectations. To have one of your Progeny fail in that manner is a source of great shame in the Covens, so prospective Makers choose their future Progeny very carefully."
Which was why that wretch Mannfred's betrayal had hurt her dear husband so much. In Isabella's opinion, Vlad should have disposed of the megalomaniacal man-child centuries ago, but for all his ruthlessness, her husband could be surprisingly sentimental when it came to his family.
"What about the Brood of Nergal ?" asked Areelu. "Where did they come from ?"
Isabella had known the question would come : given what had happened earlier today, it was inevitable. She'd made sure to brush up her knowledge of the whole sordid affair, especially since all of it was second-hand – though, unlike most Vampires, she'd learned about it from someone who had actually been present for it all. Still, she was talking to worshippers of Chaos, so she'd to phrase the story carefully : it wouldn't do to accidentally give insult to their guests.
"That is a long story," she began, settling comfortably in her chair. "It happened many centuries before my birth, but I was told the tale by my husband, who lived as a human in those days, a high-ranking officer of the Cassandron PDF and a dedicated servant of the Volkihar Coven. As he told me, Hive Septimus was once the demesne of the Ruthven Coven, instead of the burned-out, lifeless, ruined husk it is now. Nearly all of their culture was lost in what happened to them, but from what I know, they were as proud and powerful a Coven as any of the others – though of course, they were still second to the Volkihar," she added with a smile.
"Of course," repeated Areelu drily.
"Then, four thousand years ago, the Thrice-Damned, Regent of the Ruthven Coven, whose name we are all forbidden to speak, fell to the Great Corruptor. To this day, we do not know for certain how it happened; how exactly the seeds of his madness took root. Our best guess is that he met with a heretic from off-world who introduced him to the worship of Nergal."
"Nurgle," whispered Areelu Van Yastobaal, all but hissing the name. Next to her, Krystabel's face was also twisted in anger and disgust. "The Protectorate and I have both our own grudges against him and his servants."
"Nergal, Nurgle, it doesn't really matter," Isabella shrugged. "Gods have always had many names, for as long as Mankind has believed in them. But Nergal was the name by which the Thrice-Damned called his patron, and so it became the name we gave to the Brood once the truth became clear. Regardless of the source of the Thrice-Damned's heresy, for decades following his fall from grace, he studied the forbidden arts, delving deeper and deeper into the mysteries of Decay and using sorcery to mask the ensuing warping of his flesh."
This portion of the tale was mostly speculation, based on some texts which had been recovered from the heretic Regent's lair in the aftermath – texts which had promptly been destroyed, just in case his madness could spread through their contents.
To be honest, having seen what the members of the Brood looked like on a handful of occasions during her long life, Isabella found it hard to believe none of her ancestors had caught on to the Thrice-Damned's deceit. Then again, every Vampire became good at hiding secrets by necessity sooner or later, and the Regents of the Covens were among the best at it.
"During that time, the Thrice-Damned recruited other members of the Ruthven Coven to his blasphemous cause," she continued. "Then, one night, he dug up the coffins of seven Ruthven Ancients and offered them in sacrifice to his Dark God."
Isabella paused then for a moment.
"It is … difficult, to put the sheer scale of that transgression into words someone who isn't one of us would understand. The Ancients are the oldest and most powerful of our kind, some of them older than the Imperium itself. They are the leaders and founders of the Covens, the common ancestors of all of the tens of thousands of Vampires who bear its name and blood. That is why what Lord Cain did when he awakened Lady Akivasha is so impressive to us."
"I think I see where this is going," said Areelu with a grim expression. "The Thrice-Damned used those very bonds of blood against the Ruthven, didn't he ?"
"Exactly," confirmed Isabella, making a mental note that the Rogue Trader clearly had access to knowledge the rest of the Imperium didn't. "The curse of Nergal flowed through the bonds of Blood that link all members of a Coven to each other, and in that single moment, every scion of the Ruthven bloodline was transformed into a member of the Brood, from the mightiest elder to the lowliest fledgling. Their souls were overcome by corruption, their minds broken, and the Ruthven Coven was reduced to a horde of monsters."
Isabella didn't mind admitting to herself that the very concept of it all was terrifying. Despite the political differences and slight variations of character and Talents between the Covens, they were the same at a fundamental level. What had happened to the Ruthven could have happened to the Volkihar, if Nergal had managed to sink his poisoned fangs into a member of their bloodline instead of the Thrice-Damned.
"The Brood fell upon Hive Septimus' population in a frenzied orgy of feeding. Their corrupted Gift spread like a plague, and social order collapsed immediately, as people died, turned, or tried to flee into the wasteland without any plan or preparation. Hive Septimus' surroundings became a graveyard of millions of fleeing refugees, and the situation inside the hive proper was far worse. Even the Ruthven who weren't in Hive Septimus weren't spared by the curse. Ambassadors and exiles alike were turned into vectors for the contagion, and every Coven had to deal with outbreaks within their respective hive-cities."
This was where the records became clearer, thanks to how many witnesses to the Ruthven's sudden affliction there'd been – though not many had survived to write about it.
"Once the outbreaks were successfully suppressed, the Covens figured out that something had gone horribly wrong in Hive Septimus. The Ancients were urgently awakened, and they went to war against the Brood, with their loyal PDF troops at their side. My dear husband Vlad was a commander of the PDF at the time, and it was his bravery during the conflict that earned him induction into the ranks of the Volkihar Coven by none other than the Lady Akivasha herself."
Yes, she was boasting about her husband. So what ? She loved him.
"At the head of this army were the mightiest of our Ancients, those we call Paragons. They are those few among us who have gained mastery over all the Talents of the Blood, and reached the peak of Vampiric power." They had discussed the Talents before, with Isabella explaining how each bloodline had its favored supernatural abilities passed down from Maker to Progeny, so there was no need to repeat that now. "In all the Covens' history, only a handful have ever claimed that title, as it takes thousands of years of practice; even mastering the Talents of one's own bloodline is the work of centuries."
"Given what we saw Lady Akivasha do, I can only imagine such beings are very powerful indeed," said Areelu, letting some of her curiosity show on her face.
"Extremely so," Isabella confirmed, seeing no reason not to tell the Volkihar's newest allies of the Coven's might. "Paragons can face an army of thousands single-handedly and triumph; and indeed, during the Purge of Septimus, that is exactly what they did. In the end, the Thrice-Damned was slain by a party of several Paragons, a number of Ancients, and the support of thousands of Vampires and hundreds of thousands of PDF troopers to breach through the hordes of the Brood. It was a great victory, though not one without a terrible cost."
It was possible that, during the confusion of the battle, some grudges older than the Imperium had been quietly settled between the Ancients, and the victims blamed on the Thrice-Damned. Possible, but, in Isabella's opinion, unlikely. After all, at the time, the Covens would've had no way to know for sure they had truly dealt with the threat, and the Thrice-Damned wasn't about to return and force them to ally once more. In a strange way, perhaps the Brood of Nergal had ensured that the Covens would never go to total war against one another again, just in case.
"Hive Septimus was purged from top to bottom by kill-teams made up of Vampires of every remaining Coven, while a cordon around the hive prevented the Nergalites from escaping," she continued the story. "Once they withdrew, with Septimus' defenses and the Thrice-Damned's sorcerous wards brought down, the PDF artillery shelled the hive continually for an entire month without stopping, just to make sure."
"We saw the site from orbit during our approach," said Krystabel. "I think even Hektor was surprised by the scale of the destruction."
"Not impressed ?" asked Isabella.
"Well," the Handmaiden shrugged, "he is a veteran of the Siege of Terra."
"Yes, I suppose that would put things into perspective," the Volkihar allowed, suppressing a shiver at the casual reminder of the kind of beings the Black Commissar had under his command. "In any case, the Covens took great pains to ensure the Imperium thought this whole sordid affair a mere civil war, of the kind that happen on Imperial worlds all the time as a result of the local aristocracy feuding with itself."
The fact that, despite their degeneracy, the Brood retained the antithetical effect we have on technological recordings had helped a great deal, though it could just as easily have been regarded as a source of suspicion in itself had the Covens not navigated the situation as well as they had.
"I understand that there was some grumbling from the Administratum as the PDF tithe had to be delayed, but we managed to smooth things over quickly enough no Inquisitor thought to investigate. After that, the threat of the Brood was thought to be over. It wasn't entirely so, of course : some of them managed to escape Hive Septimus, or to hide in the ruins of their realm, deep enough to survive even that level of sustained devastation. Ever since then, there have been outbreaks, which the Covens have worked together to purge as soon as they learn of them."
"But nothing on the scale of what happened this time," said Areelu, "isn't that so ?"
Isabella shook her head. "No, nothing like that. It was always limited to small groups being discovered in the underhives, or launching small-scale strikes against Coven assets or even random Imperial institutions. Something must have happened, and I doubt it was only that bloodless wretch Mannfred's treachery helping them grow their numbers without being detected."
If for no other reason than she refused to give him any credit whatsoever.
"The Nergalites' vile patron must have increased the blasphemous assistance he was granting them," said Krystabel. "Lord Cain suspected Nurgle's influence was at work in the system when he led us here. I don't think he knew the details, but truly, his instincts are a wonder to behold."
This, Isabella found hard to believe. Oh, there was no question that Cain was opposed to the Brood of Nergal : Lady Akivasha would surely have sensed any taint of the Rotting One in his blood. But the timing of the Protectorate's arrival was simply too convenient to be the product of mere chance. It was much more likely that Cain had known of the threat in advance, and arranged matters so that he'd be in a position to earn the Covens' gratitude and alliance against a common enemy.
If so, then it was quite the master-stroke, and a reminder that, for all that the Vampires of Cassandron had spent millennia sharpening their skills at intrigue against one another, the galaxy was still a big place, and there was a reason their ancestors had elected to remain on a single world. Isabella could only hope her husband would realize the threat Cain might pose if he turned into the Covens' enemy, and do his best to ensure this didn't come to pass – just like Isabella would do her best to ingratiate herself to the Liberator's diplomatic envoys.
"They certainly are," she agreed out loud. Krystabel's infatuation for her leader was obvious – the fact that the Handmaiden didn't even try to conceal it was very interesting, especially given the fact she was pretty certain Areelu had her own interest in the Liberator. "Now that you are caught up on ancient history, shall I introduce you to the rest of our esteemed guests ?"
"That would be much appreciated," replied the Lady Van Yastobaal, standing up. "We should get to know our new friends, after all."
This, Areelu reflected, must be exactly what Cain intended when he'd gone to the underhive and left her and Krystabel behind, trusting they would read his intent without needing to voice it aloud. Neither of them were suited to fighting in the dark tunnels beneath untold millions of tons of earth, stone, rockrete and metal, whereas the social arena of the high spires of Hive Primus were the kind of place where the Rogue Trader had spent decades, plotting and scheming in pursuit of knowledge to cure her beloved daughter, or the wealth needed to continue that pursuit.
The three of them left the side room to go back to the main hall. Without a word, Suture moved from the shadowed corner where he'd been silently standing guard during their conversation to follow them. Even after all this time, she was still surprised by how quiet the two-and-a-half meters tall transhuman warrior could be when he wanted to.
The reception hall was lavishly decorated with the fruits of millennia of accumulated wealth. Unlike so many noble dwellings Areelu had visited in the past, however, the display of wealth and power wasn't so ostentatious as to become vulgar. Every piece of furniture was a centuries-old masterpiece, carefully preserved through the efforts of what she could only imagine must be a veritable army of exceptionally well-trained servants.
She recognized some of the styles on display. Here was a seat whose wooden framework had been carved on Tanith; there, a low table sculpted in Macraggian marble. The small orchestra which was playing soft, nonintrusive music (Bartholomew's Ninth Symphony, if her ears didn't deceive her) were all carrying instruments from the ocean world of Eleusis, each one costing more than a member of the artisan class could hope to earn in a lifetime. And the chandelier hanging over them all was made up of a thousand diamonds, resulting in a strange, almost hypnotic effect as the lights shifted ever so slightly with every change of the room's air currents.
But despite how interesting the decorations were, Areelu's focus was on the guests. Over a hundred Vampires were present to celebrate Lady Akivasha's awakening, and you could have cut the intrigue in the air with a chainsword. These represented only a fraction of the Volkihar Coven, of course : only the most powerful and influential scions were welcomed here. They wore the clothing of Imperial highborn, but moved with a predatory grace which few human Imperial nobles possessed (but not none, as Imperial politics could be as cut-throat as the gang warfare of any underhive).
Isabella, Krystabel and her drew more than their share of looks, which didn't surprise Areelu. Isabella was the Volkihar Regent's wife, while the two of them were the representatives of the Cainite Protectorate – and then, of course, there was Suture, who could hardly have looked more out of place as he trailed behind them in his suit of power armor. At least he'd left his weapons behind, like everyone else, although that didn't make him harmless, of course. But then, none of the guests to this party could ever truly be said to be unarmed – and Areelu was no exception.
It reminded the Rogue Trader of a number of other high-society parties she had attended before. Only the nature of the beverages being served, and the absence of augmetic implants in the attendees (Vampire physiology rejected all such implants, and their regeneration meant they didn't need them in any case) set it apart.
The beverages in questions were served by thralls dressed in white robes walked between the guests, carrying trays of refreshment. According to Isabella's explanations, these were the Covens' favored servants, whose will had been suborned through repeated feedings until their loyalty was guaranteed. The Volkihar matriarch had been coy as to the exact nature and mechanisms of this submission, probably thinking that such supernatural slavery would run against the principles of a regime so dedicated to the cause of 'Liberation' as the Protectorate.
In this, she was probably correct. Areelu was admittedly still new to this whole 'Liberation' business, but she'd seen enough to know that Cain was truly committed to bringing freedom to those who suffered under the yoke of tyranny, whatever form it might take. She suspected that, in the years to come and once the threat of the Brood had been eliminated, the Warmaster would push for certain … changes in the way the Covens ran their operations on Cassandron.
Which was another reason for her to learn all she could about the Vampires' ways. Cain was too honorable to turn on the Covens after they'd faced a common enemy : he would prefer to use diplomacy to bring them under his banner, and no diplomat could work without understanding the other party. Doing all she could to help that was the least Areelu owed him.
"Ah, there she is," said Isabella. "There is someone in particular I wanted to introduce you. Genevieve ! How nice to see you !"
A woman who had ostensibly been examining a portrait of Lady Akivasha turned toward them at Isabella's call. She looked young, a teenager who hadn't fully transitioned to adulthood quite yet; at least, until you looked into her eyes, which were far older than the rest of her appeared to be. Given the prevalence of juvenat treatment usage among the Imperial aristocracy, Areelu was well used to people being older than they looked, but the Vampires of Cassandron took it to an entirely new level – Isabella hadn't said precisely how old Akivasha herself was, but Areelu had her suspicions.
"I'm always happy to meet you as well, Lady Volkihar. And a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Ladies of the Cainite Protectorate. I am Genevieve Moroi, emissary of Hive Quartus," she introduced herself with an impeccably executed curtsy.
Moroi. Areelu recognized the name : it was that of the Coven which ruled Hive Quartus. The fact that Genevieve wore the name as her own meant that she was of a high rank within that Coven, which wasn't surprising, given her presence here.
"Oh, I assure you, the pleasure is mine," replied Krystabel, with a smile that would have made many men (and women) go weak at the knees. Genevieve, however, was made of sterner stuff than most, and merely widened her own smile a fraction in response, showing the merest hint of her elongated canines as she did so.
Areelu smiled. She was going to enjoy herself tonight, she could already tell.
AN : Well, that took entirely too much time. Initially, this chapter was supposed to include the battle in the underhive of Primus, but the lore dump of the first part ran away from me and I decided to cut it here instead.
There will be more reveals about the Vampire Covens further down the line, but I wanted to establish a baseline, so to speak. I also tried to put more stuff in Areelu's POV, but for the life of me I couldn't manage to write anything of her discussion with Genevieve (who I am sure you'll have recognized), so I decided to cut my losses and stop here.
I look forward to your thoughts on this chapter, which admittedly was different from usual. Next time, we'll get back to our GLORIOUS LIBERATOR.
Zahariel out.
PS : because I am weak and the Muse is strong and cannot be denied, you can expect on a certain significant day later this week.