Lords of Blood, page 91
‘I shall, my lord.’
‘Do you swear fealty to the Imperium, as embodied by my person and rulership?’
‘I do!’
‘Then you may submit your notification of succession to me when we retake your domain.’
‘You will do it? You will save my world?’ Jemmeni’s face turned from despair to joy.
‘You have saved your world,’ said Dante, ‘by risking all to come here when you could have fled, as many other aristocrats would have. If Ronenti is saved, it is your doing. My captains, my fellow Chapter Masters,’ Dante said to his assembled brethren. ‘We are honour pledged to defend all the domains of mankind. Kheru can wait a little while longer.’ He looked back to the prince. ‘You are going to go home, my lord.’ Dante turned Sanguinius’ howling face fully onto Raphaen, and was gratified to see the captain’s confidence slip. ‘Raphaen is correct. If the tyranids receive notification of a ready prey source from the cult, they will turn north.’
Raphaen bowed his head. ‘By your command.’
Dante rested his fingertips upon the Table of Communion. ‘You of the new breed, Captain Raphaen... I am aware some among you believe me to be too old to lead adequately. You are not daunted by my legend, and I see this as a good thing. But I am Master of this Chapter, and you will not question my orders again.’
A murmur of voices set up. Raphaen had allies among the new captains, but more of them, like Antargo, were offended by his manner towards Dante, and all the veterans were.
‘And yet, once more I find myself in agreement with our argumentative captain!’ said Dante loudly, silencing the crowd. ‘I am old! I am in need of renewal. An answer to my quandary presents itself. An emissary of Belisarius Cawl has come to us, bringing with him new technologies that will allow existing Space Marines to be transformed into the Primaris strain. This process is dangerous, and I cannot in good conscience ask that any take this risk if I myself will not. Therefore, I have decided that I shall undergo the procedure first, tomorrow, and when I have recovered, we shall begin our reconquest of Imperium Nihilus.’
The chamber was already primed with tension by Raphaen’s challenge. Dante’s pronouncement was met with absolute uproar. Warriors old and new got to their feet. Many questions were put forward, and many arguments made against Dante’s choice. Astorath left his throne and came to his lord’s side.
‘You should not do this,’ he whispered.
Calls to order fell on deaf ears. The old Space Marines would not allow their lord to take such a risk. The new were split. All argued loudly, and the clamour increased, until Rhacelus stood from his place at the table, slammed his staff hard onto the floor and sent out a pulse of psychic power that dazzled all eyes and quieted every voice.
‘Be silent! Your commander orders it,’ said Rhacelus. A nimbus of red light burned around his head. His eyes glared ferociously with warp shine as he turned to the Chapter Master’s throne. ‘My lord, you are too valuable to risk as an experimental subject.’
Murmurs of assent went up.
‘But if you would permit me,’ Rhacelus said. ‘I have a better idea.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DEATH IMPRISONED
The black-robed guardians of the Chemic Spheres stood sentry with their heads bowed, only the faintest glimmer of gold visible of the horrific masks they wore. Rhacelus ignored them as he worked the minor rituals needed to open the door. They were always there. There were only ever two. What exactly they were, who they had been, where they came from, what oaths they had taken, Rhacelus did not know. Mephiston might not even know. To learn their identities he would have to interrogate the spirits of past Librarians clinging to existence in the Sepulcrum Maleficus, or rouse the most ancient of the Chapter’s Librarian-Dreadnoughts. Rhacelus would rather not do either of those things, and so let the matter remain a mystery. It was safer that way.
The door opened, and he stepped within. A pearlescent dome lit red by the sluggish light of Idalia rose before him. This was the Chemic Spheres, one of the Blood Angels’ most secure psychic prisons. Never had it been more needed.
Rhacelus leaned his staff upon the wall and went close to the dome. He did not open it. He did not need to. Incredibly, he could feel the Lord of Death’s presence behind the wall.
‘It should not be possible,’ he said to himself. The barriers woven into the dome were inviolable, yet they were violated.
Fierce energies crawled down the walls from the star captive in the vaults above. If he could feel Mephiston’s soul even through the barrier of the spheres, would Idalia be enough to restrain the Lord of Death if he finally lost control? The thought worried Rhacelus greatly.
He sat himself upon the engraved steel of the floor surrounding the dome. The hall of the spheres was large, but the dome took up most of the space, leaving a circular strip around its perimeter only a few yards wide. His robes rustled as he settled.
Rhacelus closed his warp-touched eyes, and reached out with his mind.
Mephiston, he thought. The wards were prominent to his witch-sight as runes burning with cold, awful fire, each one as big as a man, floating immovably around the dome. The dome showed itself as a bloody hemisphere alive with crawling script. Nothing of the spirit should be able to penetrate those defences, but as soon as Rhacelus reached out, the sense of Mephiston’s presence grew enormously, and a black shape rushed out from the depths of the warded space. The runes blazed with an intensity great enough to scorch his soul, and he flinched from them, before the approaching blackness swallowed them and blotted out everything. It loomed over him, emanating a terrifying power. For a moment, he had the impression of a great, black angel, as terrible as the end of time. The sense dissipated. The darkness faded. The runes contained most of the furious power within the spheres, allowing only a sickening trace out to touch Rhacelus’ being.
A ghostly image of Mephiston manifested before him.
You should not have come, Gaius,+ said the phantom. Mephiston was a shadow shot through with threads of red and gold. +This place is dangerous to you. I am dangerous to you.+
Rhacelus believed it. Mephiston’s spirit voice was strained. The dangerous energy behind the wards waxed strong. Again he saw the black angel, standing where his friend should be. When it receded, Mephiston had changed, becoming Calistarius, though his voice and psychic imprint were those of the Lord of Death.
I cannot contain this power that is in me any longer,+ said Mephiston. +Soon the Chemic Spheres will be insufficient to hold me.+
‘What is happening to you?’
Mephiston laughed bitterly. +I do not know. Not since Calistarius died under the rubble of Hades Hive and I clawed my way out. I have known nothing of what I truly am.+ The image wavered, taking on the semblance of Mephiston clad for war, potent and terrible, his armour glistening like blood. +All through our adventures, my friend, you have watched my becoming. Now I feel the final transformation is on me, and I do not know what is on the other side. I fear you must slay me soon, before I cease to be, as Calistarius ceased to be before me, lest I become something evil.+ He looked behind him, where his body was caged. +A great darkness is coming for me.+
He closed his eyes in pain.
‘The Black Rage?’
Something else. I do not know how to describe it. It is eating away at me, body and soul. Soon there will be nothing left but the darkness. I called the Rage down on us, Gaius. I almost killed you. You must destroy me.+
The sight moved Rhacelus. He had called Mephiston friend since before his change. The Lord of Death had tried to push him away, like he had all his former colleagues. Only he and the Sanguinary Priest Albinus remained close to him. It was a one-sided affection. Mephiston was confident, and decisive, but rarely warm.
‘I see a great black angel here. I have seen it before, at war with a golden angel in the warp,’ said Rhacelus.
When did you see this?+
‘I took upon your burden of guiding the ships home to Baal.’
I am sorry, my brother.+
‘We all live to serve, Mephiston.’
Your next service will also be onerous,+ said Mephiston. +You must kill me.+
‘That will not be necessary,’ said Rhacelus. ‘Firstly, you are not responsible for the emergence of the Rage within the Primaris brothers, as we first feared. Lord Astorath has returned from the world of Dulcis, where he too saw the warriors of the new blood fall to the old curse. Brother Corbulo believes now they always were susceptible. Its manifestation on the Dominance and on Dulcis is an effect of the warp, or so it has been theorised, not you.’
That is good to hear,+ said Mephiston. The ghosts of blood-red wings spread and furled around him. +But I still cannot control the power growing in me. I remain a threat.+
‘There is something else,’ said Rhacelus. ‘A servant of Belisarius Cawl has come to Baal. He has brought the means to transform a Space Marine, giving him all the strength our new brothers possess, but there are risks.’
You have proposed me as the test subject,+ said Mephiston.
‘Dante volunteered. The council would have vetoed his decision. I proposed you in his stead.’
What did the others say?+
‘Some objected, as is to be expected,’ said Rhacelus. ‘They do not wish to risk you, but I believe it offers the only hope we have to contain your gifts. You have seen the new Librarians that came with the primarch. They are stronger in mind as well as in body. Your rebirth could help you control your power.’
And Antros? What does he say?+
‘He is yet to return from his mission, brother. It is for the best.’
Mephiston did not agree. +What is the price, I ask, of this transformation?+
‘If the procedure fails, you will die,’ said Rhacelus simply.
How much can we truly trust Cawl?+
‘It is a question we have all wrestled with. Perhaps we should not examine his gifts overly closely in these times of crisis. Without Cawl, our Chapter would be extinct.’
A wise man examines everything, especially those things of great value that are given freely.+
‘This is true, my brother, but what choice do we have? Dante will surely give the order to kill you if you remain here. You are growing stronger with every day that passes.’
A choice between two deaths,+ Mephiston said. +Somewhat fitting.+ He looked at the dome again. +This conversation should not be possible,+ he said. He looked back at Rhacelus. +I agree to the procedure. But promise me, if I seem to be losing myself, you will finish me. Only you have the might to oppose me, my brother, and even then you must be swift.+
‘Very well. I shall inform Commander Dante,’ said Rhacelus.
Quickly,+ said Mephiston. +Death approaches us all on swift wings.+
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RUBICON PRIMARIS
A procession of men climbed their way up the Tribunalis Victorum, the long, broad stair that wound its way up the Walk of Angels. Dante went at their head. Sanguinary High Priest Corbulo marched a few paces behind him, Sanguinary Priest Albinus at his side. Dante wore his armour, but the priests had delicate work to perform, and wore plastek coats over surgical robes. A pair of cruel-faced cyber cherubim flew overhead, dragging a large banner through the air marked with the sigils of the Sanguis Corpusculum. Behind Corbulo and Albinus came Astorath, grim-faced, his axe held sideways across his body. Behind him was Cawl’s servant, Qvo-88, and a gaggle of specialised medical servitors. After them came a dozen blood thralls, dressed in the high-necked, pure white surgical coats of the apothecarion’s servants. Then a squad of veterans, their golden helms and crimson armour freshly polished. Bringing up the rear marched a full ten of the Sanguinary Guard, led by Daeanatos.
The brothers sang a funeral song as they marched, one saved to mark the passing of the Chapter’s greatest heroes. Whatever occurred, Mephiston was going to die. Qvo assured Dante of that.
They passed through the Arcus Elim onto the Walk of Angels. During the battle for the Arx Angelicum, the Walk had seen ferocious fighting, and had been all but destroyed. The Arcus Elim had been reproduced perfectly, only the sharpness of the carvings and the freshness of the stone giving away the fact that it was only a few months old. Scaffolding still covered over the rest of the Walk.
Art was the heart of the Blood Angels’ order. Utilitarian work deadened their souls. Dante looked on the scaffolds, the artisans and brothers standing quietly, tools in hand, waiting for the procession to pass. He recalled the names of the hundreds of brothers who had died during the invasion, and the thousands of those of the Blood. So many had bled on those steps.
They passed on out of the Walk and through gates of solid adamantium into the Heavenward Redoubt. From there the procession made its way through the keep up to the walls.
A hot wind was blowing off the desert. All work had ceased on the marshalling yards out beyond the fortress-monastery. A host of men of all kinds laboured to rebuild the outer curtain wall. The new wall was bigger, stronger, fitted with its own banks of void shield generators. Between the extinct volcano and the outer perimeter, the land was crowded with new facilities, some fully constructed, others as yet but outlines in the sand. Accommodation for bureaucrats and officials alongside barracks for human soldiery and storage plants, defence batteries, temples and more. A city was rising where sand had ruled for millennia. The Arx Angelicum was changing from desert monastery to the hub of half a galactic empire. Lining the new road leading out from the Maxilliary Gate were a dozen giant statues, all of heroic aspect, the Chapter Masters of the Blood who had given their lives. Dante’s gaze lingered on the stern visage of Castellan Zargo of the Angels Encarmine. Beside him stood Sentor Jool, last Master of the Knights of Blood, his Chapter’s honour redeemed through sacrifice. Five Masters alone had fallen within the walls of the fortress-monastery. Many of them had died along with the entirety of their Chapters. The names and colours of the Chapters lived on, but knowledge, experience and tradition had been lost, devoured as surely as their flesh. Their memories would be honoured. Upon the plinths of the statues, Dante had ordered the same legend be inscribed: ‘One Blood, One Brotherhood.’
Before the invasion, ruins from the time of the Great Crusade had been uncovered. Now, all traces of the past were buried beneath millions of tons of ’crete, stone and metal. Dante wondered what Sanguinius would do in his position. Would he countenance this vainglorious recreation of the Imperial Palace in miniature? Would he have refused Roboute Guilliman’s demand that he should rule in the Emperor’s place, as Dante now effectively was?
In truth, Dante could not guess. He was not sure of his own motives. They were matters that needed meditating upon, if he ever got the time.
The procession continued along the murus to the uppermost precincts of the Librarius, and there descended an outer stair down several levels of the fortress-monastery to the Orbicular Tower. It stood proud of the wall, its top not quite reaching the ramparts. The bulk of the Librarius Sagrestia was buried within the rock beneath it.
A gate of blue and gold opened into the volcano’s side. Beyond, Rhacelus waited with all the members of the Librarius on Baal.
‘My Lord Dante,’ Rhacelus said. ‘These constructs must remain outside.’ He pointed with the head of his staff at the flock of skulls, cherubs and other cybernetic familiars hanging over the procession. Dante heard Qvo tutting as he dismissed his devices.
‘The rest of you, I permit entrance to the Librarius of the Blood Angels,’ intoned Rhacelus with great formality.
‘As lord and Master of the Blood Angels Chapter, I accept your permission, and your right to give it,’ said Dante.
Rhacelus bowed and came to stand beside Dante, and remained at his side as the procession moved off into the depths.
Qvo-88 greedily recorded all he could of the Librarius. Space Marine Chapters rarely allowed outsiders insight into their cults, and the sub-orders were even more secretive.
Rhacelus led them down through a labyrinth of passageways. Qvo’s internal locators placed them far beneath the surface and more than a mile out from the fortress-monastery by the time Rhacelus led them onto a more level path, and yet the rock remained the same, glossy volcanic stone as the Arx Murus.
They reached a huge gateway guarded by thralls in polished blue armour, armed with long energy pikes. Psi-monitors in Qvo’s chest showed these thralls all to be psykers of a minor sort.
The mortal guards parted and slammed their pikes into the ground in salute. Rhacelus stopped by the gates and turned to face the procession.
‘Behold, the Diurnal Vault,’ he said. ‘The living heart of our order. Be honoured. Few who are not of the Psykana Librarius ever see it.’
He pushed his right hand against the air. A pulse of psychic force flung the doors wide. Unbearable light flooded the corridor, along with a stifling heat.
Qvo held up a metal hand to shield his eyes, unconsciously reverting to baseline human behaviour.
The Diurnal Vault must have been constructed according to trans-dimensional principles, for it was far larger a space than could have been contained by its supposed location. The source of the light was a blazing orb, forty feet across, set into the chest of a gargantuan statue of an angel carved from black stone and lit strongly red by the orb. The angel’s right hand rested upon the pommel of an immense sword. The left hand was held palm upwards, three enormous crystalline menhirs floating above it in a haze of crimson light.
Qvo stepped inside the room. Banks of machines were arrayed around the room’s periphery. Fat power conduits passed through into them, splitting inside the machines and emerging as a dazzling web of glowing strands that led from the room.
