The Rose At War, page 16
Teeth bared, it roared at them, inarticulate and furious. The hate was like a fist in the face, a punch in the gut – only the bright flame of Augusta’s faith was keeping her on her feet.
‘I do not fear you,’ she told it. ‘In the Emperor’s name, we finish this.’
The concussion had knocked the bloodletter from its feet.
It was scrambling back upright even as the detonation faded, but it was not fast enough. Melia was after it in a moment, kicking its blade away from its hand, finishing the last hound with a single, accurate shot. Behind her, Caia placed one boot on the daemon’s chest.
Even as Akemi was gathering her wits, Caia snarled a war-prayer, and shot the thing in the face.
Gore splashed; the creature snarled and struggled. But Caia kept firing, and kept firing, one round after another, again and again, her voice rising to a paean that was almost a shriek.
The thing finally detonated and she stumbled forwards, falling to her knees.
She stopped, her shoulders shaking, blood leaking down her injured arm.
But Akemi had turned to Subul, and to the mirror.
The summoner was snarling his chant, his face distorted. The symbol on his head pulsed with blood and light; its red glare lit the walls. He was savage, furious, and the daemon’s roars were echoing out of his mouth.
Steam was starting to steal across the roof of the chamber, but it was too late.
Subul may have the voice of the daemon, but he was only a man.
Only a heretic, who had dared to risk his soul for the false powers of Chaos.
‘I do not fear you.’ Akemi repeated Augusta’s words. ‘In the Emperor’s name, we finish this.’
She aimed her bolter at the symbol on his forehead, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER TEN
The daemon exploded with a horrific, echoing howl.
The sound shook the cavern; rubble rumbled from the toppled statue.
Then: silence.
Viola loosed a battle cry, raising her voice in a hymn of thanks.
Augusta felt relief unfurling in her soul, the release from the stink and rage and pressure of the daemon’s presence. For a moment, she felt almost weightless.
Truly, the Emperor had blessed them.
But the mission was not yet over. Walking to where Jatoya had fallen, she said, ‘Sister Akemi?’
Akemi’s voice came back over the vox. ‘Praise the Emperor, Sister. Subul is dead. The gate is closed.’
‘Be sure.’
At the base of the wall, the heap of red armour was crushed, cracked and splintered by the strike of the axe.
‘Oh, we’re sure.’ The voice was Caia’s, her tone dark and lethal. ‘We have placed grenades, ready to collapse the machinery. If we can.’
‘You and Akemi hold that location,’ Augusta said. ‘Sister Melia, I need you here.’
Carefully, she turned Jatoya’s helm to check the life signal.
‘Sister?’ Viola joined her, her voice filled with concern.
Augusta stood back, breathing hard. It took a moment before she could speak, and when she did her words were heavy and soft. ‘She walks at His feet. Blessed be her memory.’
‘No.’ Viola’s breath caught on a sob – a sound that was as much exhaustion as grief. ‘Blessed be… blessed be her memory.’
‘This place is accursed,’ Augusta said. ‘Too many Sisters have laid down their lives.’ She watched the crumpled form for a minute, then said, ‘Sister Viola.’
Viola raised her chin. ‘Sister Superior.’
‘You disobeyed my order, Viola.’ Her words were flat, somehow empty of all feeling; suddenly, she felt very tired. ‘When commanded to leave with the rest of the squad, you stayed to face the daemon. I do not need to remind you of the schola’s most basic lessons – that we must all rely upon the unity, courage and the trustworthiness of our Sisters. An order disobeyed can spell death for a squad in the field.’
Viola flinched, looking at the broken armour beside them.
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Not only that, but you acted out of a purely personal need – a need to prove yourself. You did not act for the good of the unit, nor for your love of the Emperor. Do you have anything to say to me, Sister?’
Viola paused. She inhaled, as if searching for the right words, then her shoulders sagged once more. ‘No, Sister. I wanted–’
‘What you “wanted” is irrelevant. Your need for personal merit overcame both your training and your orders.’
Viola said, her voice quiet, ‘Sister, you could not have held back the daemon without me, and without the heavy bolter. I disobeyed the order because I feared for the failure of the mission.’ She paused, then said, ‘I will accept whatever discipline you feel is necessary.’
The Sister Superior drew in a breath. Jatoya’s death had not been Viola’s doing, but still, a splinter of anger was caught in Augusta’s heart.
With an effort, she mastered it.
‘Disobeying a direct order should see you among the Repentia,’ she said. ‘Or at the very least your badge of merit removed.’
‘Yes, Sister. I understand.’
Augusta considered her. The young woman’s head was bowed and her attitude contrite. Her lone adamantium bead glinted – the award she had received for the death of the ork warlord.
‘I feel, Sister Viola,’ Augusta said, ‘that you were unready for your field promotion, and you have been daunted by the expectation that it has laid upon your shoulders.’
Viola looked up, her expression wary.
‘Yet you have faced your task with courage and you have learned to use the weapon with great speed, great skill and great accuracy.’
Viola watched her, still unspeaking.
‘We will undertake suitable atonement,’ the Sister Superior said, her decision reached. ‘We will retrieve our fallen Sisters. We will carry them back to the township where we will raise a pyre to Sister Jatoya, to Sister Felicity and her squad, to the tech-priest Jencir and the missionary Lyconides, and to Kawa Koumu and the bravery of her warriors. We will cleanse both the cathedral and the shrines of the town, and we will grant a final blessing to those who have attained the Emperor’s side.’
‘Sister?’ Viola’s tone was surprised. ‘You–?’
‘I must accept responsibility for my decisions,’ Augusta said. ‘I made the choice to promote you to Sister Kimura’s role. And by my failure was Chaos loosed within this place.’ She glanced at the smoking daemon flesh strewn across the floor, at the last of the skulls in the firepit. ‘This planet has seen me err too many times – the blame for all of these deaths is mine. And may the Emperor accept my penitence.’
In the thick night of the Lautis jungle, the flames burned high.
Behind them, the twin guards of the ziggurat flickered in the light, and its stepped, dark shape angled upwards into the sky. At its peak, the ancient depiction of the Emperor looked out across the empty town.
Watching the hot, bright fire that consumed the figure within, Augusta had removed both helmet and gauntlets. The night air was heavy and warm, but its comparative freshness was welcome.
She looked around the gathered squad, all of them bare-headed and weary. Their armour was scratched and dented, their cloaks stained and filthy – but she was proud of every one of them. Even Viola, despite her insubordination.
‘I have transmitted the report,’ she told them. ‘And there are enough supplies within the basecamp to sustain us until the Tukril arrives from Mars, the Kyrus with it. Our mission, Sisters,’ she tried to stop the bitterness in her tone, ‘has been a success.’
‘How long will we be here?’ Melia asked.
‘Sixty-five days.’
Her response was met with a dismayed silence – she knew full well that her squad did not wish to stay here, never mind for two Solar months.
But she was not finished. ‘But be warned – we are not on hiatus, Sisters, and we must maintain our guard. Where Chaos has manifested, it may yet still return – and it is up to us to ensure that the cathedral and its tunnels remain free from any taint. The patrol work may be tedious, but it is as much a part of our calling as the banishment of the beast itself.’ She paused, but her squad still said nothing. They only stood listening to the brief. ‘And we must not err.’
Beside her in the firelight, Akemi said, ‘What of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Sister? With the Tukril returning…’
She let the query tail off into silence, but Augusta understood. The daemon had said that they were easy to lure, implying that Jencir had known of the machinery, and had come to Lautis not to rebuild, but for reasons of his own. The curiosity of the Adeptus Mechanicus, as Jatoya had commented, was often their undoing.
‘We will greet them upon their arrival and discover the parameters of their mission. I await the orders of the canoness – it may well be that the cathedral and the town will be destroyed. Certainly, it would be the most secure outcome.’
On the far side of the fire, Viola stared down into the flame, her armour gleaming. She had been very quiet on their careful retreat from the cathedral’s undertunnels, retrieving Jatoya and the gruesome remains of the fallen squad and obeying every command without question. And there had been no further sign of her outspoken bluster.
At Augusta’s words, she glanced up.
‘Permission to ask a question, Sister?’
‘Of course,’ Augusta said.
‘Why is it that the Adeptus Mechanicus have such a tie to our Order?’
Akemi, standing at the fireside and flicking her little fetish between her fingers, glanced up as if eager to answer, but Augusta said, ‘You know the legend of Saint Mina, Viola. It was the very first doctrine you studied when you joined this Order.’
Viola nodded, ‘Yes, Sister.’
Augusta said, ‘Saint Mina was martyred upon the Mechanicus planet of Hydraphur. She was slain at a small shrine and her body was drained of all blood. Yet still, her blade slew hundreds of her foes.’
‘Then perhaps Jencir’s curiosity was not just the machinery,’ Viola commented.
‘Perhaps,’ Augusta said. ‘The Mechanicus have been political supporters of our Order for many centuries.’ She let herself smile. ‘If Akemi can read enough of his notes, we may even find out.’
Akemi made a face.
‘But – what about the vial?’ Melia said. ‘The daemon Subul mentioned a vial of Mina’s blood. Do we believe that such an artefact really exists?’
‘Subul was playing games,’ Augusta said. ‘Games of words. He was taunting and provoking us and trying to make us falter.’ Her smile was grim. ‘In drawing a comparison between ourselves and the bloodlust of the followers of Khorne, he was calling everything we are into question, the entire history of our Order. But we have faced his mockery, Sisters. We have faced the minion of Chaos, faced blood and fire and death. And while we may know rage and warfare and the pure anger of the Emperor’s wrath, there remains a difference between our desire for battle and theirs.’
The others watched her; her gaze stopped on Sister Viola.
‘We fight in the Emperor’s name,’ Viola said. ‘We have purpose.’
‘Just so,’ Augusta agreed with her. ‘And we fight with control. We embrace the rage, but we use it wisely. It never commands us. And that, above all things, is why our discipline matters.’
Viola flushed, understanding all too well the point that Augusta was making.
‘As to the vial,’ the Sister Superior said. ‘Daemons are the masters of deceit. We cannot know if such a thing exists.’
‘But,’ Melia said, ‘in the days to come, we will have time. We can search for it while we patrol.’
Caia said, ‘I will find it.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Melia told her.
From somewhere, a cawing cry split the darkness, and made them jump.
Akemi said, ‘The wildlife of the jungle – it’s coming back.’
Caia looked ruefully at her broken auspex. ‘I suppose we had better set a watch.’
‘I will watch,’ Augusta told them. ‘And I will pray. Take the rest, my Sisters, you’ve earned it.’
She moved away from the firelight to find a vantage.
As her weary squad settled to watch the flame, she stood like the warriors of the ziggurat, silent and on guard.
Watching the Sister Superior leave the firelight, Sister Akemi flicked her little fetish between her fingers.
She had survived. She had faced her fears, faced the powers of darkness. She had spilled blood and taken lives, and seen the slavering maw of Chaos itself. She had felt the pure rage of her calling, the rise of defiance, exhilaration and courage that was the signature of her Order.
And she had understood why it was different.
She flicked the little silver icon, watching the light on the metal.
It was precious to her – the symbol of the Order of the Quill. She had always kept it with her, despite her change of calling.
The cawing rose again, now further away.
Sister Akemi flicked the item one last time, and leaned forward to place it, carefully, in the flames.
She had no regrets as to the decision she had made, and she needed the item no longer.
CHAPTER ONE
The broken steel gantry swayed and screeched.
Backed to its outermost end, the wounded man had stumbled to his knees. Alone, unarmed, he held one hand to the smoking hole in his belly. The other supported him as he crashed forwards, coughing blood.
He did not have long.
‘Aim!’ The sergeant’s bark was curt. It rang hollow, echoing loudly in the empty systems of pipes and conduits that towered around them, resonant in rust and decay.
Nine lasguns tucked into nine shoulders.
Nine tiny, red insects clustered on the man’s skull.
The man made no move; he didn’t protest, or try to defend himself. He’d led them a long chase, but it was over.
‘Hold your fire.’ A woman’s voice, cool and controlled.
The sergeant raised one hand from his weapon, and the squad paused.
A small, grey-robed figure stepped through them, her black boots ringing on the metal walkway. Even in her ceramite armour, she was barely as high as the heavy sergeant’s shoulder, but her poise and bearing spoke of complete authority. Her head was bare and her white-threaded dark hair was braided tightly down her back.
At her feet, an empty vat-tank stretched downwards into darkness. It had a mark stamped in its side – the cog-and-skull of Triplex Phall, and a line of Mechanicus numerals, noting its denomination. Somewhere at its base, there hissed the wash and seethe of liquid.
But the woman did not look down.
She said, ‘It’s over, Zale.’
The man did not respond. He was still coughing; his breath was harsh and ragged. Like the metal-stinking wind, it rose into the umber sky, and was gone.
‘Ma’am?’ The sergeant stood poised, his battered green armour-plates filthy with blown rust, his head still tilted into the rifle sight. She could feel his tension, his need to end this, once and for all. The squad’s lieutenant had already died on his knees – from the beginning, this entire mission had been littered with corpses – but such things were of little interest to her.
She took a further step forwards, her gauntleted fist closing. The band of her signet ring bit into her flesh.
She would take whatever action she deemed necessary.
Curtly, she repeated the order. ‘I said, hold your fire.’
‘Ma’am.’
The sergeant was a good man, solid. She felt his pressure on the trigger ease.
Satisfied, she raised her voice, let her accusation sound like a paean from the crumbling pipework. ‘Scafidis Zale, you are a heretic and a traitor, and there is nowhere left for you to run. You will surrender, or you will fall to the waters below, and there you will dissolve. You will beg me for pity as they eat your living flesh, but there will be no pity, Zale, not for you. Repent here, and I may yet grant you your future, and your continued service to the God-Emperor.’
From somewhere, far out in the mess of refineries, machines and galleries, there came the sounds of shouting, and running boots. There was the hiss and boom of lasgun fire, a rise of laughter, the noise of fists on flesh.
But she and the fallen man were intent only on each other.
Slowly, the injured Zale sank backwards until he was sitting on his heels. His hand was still on his belly, his head bowed.
The woman felt the sergeant tense. Rage and suspicion rose from his burly shoulders.
Still, she did not give the order.
She said, ‘Surrender, Zale.’
Feet sounded again, closer this time. Several of the soldiers twitched, but the noises soon clanged past them, and faded to echoes.
And then, at the far end of the gantry, Scafidis Zale began to unfold. Slowly, he came to his feet. He moved like a performer, taking command of his stage.
Nine points of light followed the motion.
He didn’t care.
Instead, he said one word, like a hiss of pure scorn…
‘Inquisitor.’
And he started to laugh.
Lycheate.
Once a forge world, a world of industry. Lycheate was a planet of refineries and manufactoria, of ferrous incinerators, of furnaces and vents, of the pulse and vein of living machinery. Once, Lycheate had thundered and rumbled with the fusion reactor deep at its core. It had been governed by its fabricator, and teeming with tech-priests, transmechanics, lexmechanics and enginseers.
Once, Lycheate had been orbited by dozens of small moons, each one rich with promethium and rare ores, drilled with mines and worked by helots. Shuttles and cargo scows had ferried those ores to the planet’s surface, where they’d been assayed and smelted and forged, and then shipped out across the Imperium, the lifeblood of all mankind.
