Lords of Blood, page 96
Mephiston was sat upon a carved chair at the head of the table, leafing through a huge, mouldy tome. A wide salver covered in scratched symbols sat in front of him.
‘Commander Dante,’ he said. He sat back and tugged a black silk cloth over the bowl, hiding it. Dante descended the last few steps into Mephiston’s living quarters. The other lit platforms orbited the main like a model of a planetary system.
‘Chief Librarian.’ Dante took a chair at the opposite end of the table. ‘You have returned from the Chemic Spheres.’
‘My brother-Librarians deemed me safe to be let free,’ said Mephiston. ‘I concurred.’
‘Tell me how you fare.’ Dante examined him carefully. Mephiston’s appearance had changed again and was now much as it had been before. His skin was still ghostly pale, his eyes piercing, his face too sharp and intent to express the beauty inherent to its features. He was a little bigger. A little taller. But the same grave-cold emanated from him. The same deep sense of unease. The same immense power.
‘As you see. I am calm. The sense of power outstripping my control is gone.’ He held up his arm. The robe he was wearing fell back from milk-white skin. The black carapace appeared like a series of massive bruises beneath. ‘Physically there is not a mark upon me.’
‘There is not,’ said Dante.
‘Does this trouble you?’ asked Mephiston.
‘Should it, brother?’
Mephiston looked down at his book, and traced ancient words with his fingers. ‘You have never truly trusted me since I ceased to be Calistarius, and became what I am.’
‘It is not lack of trust. You are a noble warrior, and my brother,’ said Dante.
‘Then you fear me.’
‘I fear nothing,’ said Dante.
Mephiston looked up and smiled. His teeth were perfect, white as snow. ‘You fear what I might become, and what it could mean for the Chapter. I do, too. But I am in control of myself. The incident aboard the Dominance will not be repeated.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am sure,’ said Mephiston. He spread his hand palm up and looked at it. ‘I am made anew.’
‘Physical strength is commendable, but what of your soul, brother?’ Dante asked. ‘Is that, too, fortified? If not, then your enhanced physiology only makes you a greater threat.’
‘There is more to this body than the added strength Cawl’s servant gave me.’ Mephiston frowned thoughtfully, choosing his words with care. ‘I do not think my self-control comes from the change.’
‘From where, then?’ asked Dante.
‘I saw him. Or something that could be regarded as him.’
‘Who?’
‘Our father,’ said Mephiston simply. ‘I sense something in you. You too have changed since Leviathan fell upon us. You saw our father too.’
‘Sanguinius,’ said Dante. ‘I did have a vision.’ Dante stared into Mephiston’s eyes. ‘I was on the verge of death. I think I would have died, if he had not sent me back.’
‘I saw something similar. A choice was given to me.’
‘Then you are more fortunate. No such offer was made to me.’ Dante spoke neutrally, but he could not hide his rancour from Mephiston.
‘You are ready to rest,’ said Mephiston.
‘I have seen more war than any being should have to,’ said Dante. ‘There is little in my life but despair.’
‘What we saw, both of us, it could not be Sanguinius. He is dead. He has been dead for nine thousand years,’ said Mephiston.
‘What, then? Is it more likely our sense of duty brought us back?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Duty is my undoing.’ Dante paused. ‘Could it have been him? Could he persist somehow, in the warp?’
Mephiston shrugged. ‘Sanguinius is recorded as being one of the Emperor’s most psychic sons. Would that have been enough? As far as it is understood to us, a powerful soul might persist in the warp for a time, but they are never whole, never what they were in life. Aeldari lore is rich with horrible tales about what occurs to the dead.’ Mephiston stood. ‘If we take a radical step, and assume that what we saw could possibly be our lord and father, then we must ask ourselves why he has not shown himself to us before.’
‘You do not think it was him,’ said Dante.
‘I could not be certain,’ said Mephiston.
‘Then you do not believe?’
‘The warp is a strange place, beyond the understanding of mortals.’ He closed his book and took it to the bookcase. ‘When we begin to think we understand it, that is the first step on the path of damnation. It is an illusion. Everything the warp gives us is a lie of one kind or another. It cannot be trusted in any way.’ Mephiston gave one of his rare smiles. ‘Even trusting that it cannot be trusted–’
‘Cannot be trusted,’ said Dante.
‘I was going to say “is folly”,’ said Mephiston, ‘but you are correct.’
‘Mine is not the most poetic of phrases,’ said Dante.
‘It is possible to try too hard for beauty in everything,’ said Mephiston. He slid the book back into position with a soft thump. ‘What will you do with me, my lord? I do not want to be left behind when we attack Kheru.’
‘It is time for a little honesty among friends,’ said Dante. ‘You may yet be a risk to the Chapter.’
‘I do not feel I am, brother.’
‘Even so, I will not deploy you on Kheru, not yet. Although you appear completely in control of yourself, we must test you in battle. If your abilities still outmatch your discipline, and you manifest the same devastating effect on the warriors of our Chapter, I would rather it were somewhere far from Baal itself. Kheru can wait a few weeks more.’
‘What do you propose?’
‘Shortly before we decided to test Cawl’s procedure on you, a ship arrived in the system with a sole survivor upon it – the son of the deceased governor of Ronenti.’
‘I have never heard of it,’ said Mephiston.
‘They have not requested the aid of our Chapter for over four thousand years. Peaceful, until now. It is not far, one of the hundreds of systems to the north of the Scar. The world has been overwhelmed by a genestealer uprising. If we do not cut off their psychic call, the tyranids will fall upon Ronenti and devour it, and if the hive fleet in this subsector turn towards Ronenti, they will bypass the trap we have laid for them.’
‘Then I will go there, my lord, and end them.’
‘We will go there together,’ said Dante. ‘I wish to see you fight with my own eyes.’
‘If there is an effect on the warriors of our blood, my lord, you will be in danger.’
‘I have lived too long as it is, Mephiston. I have never shied from duty. If you do lose control, if you show signs of turning into a threat, then I will end you myself.’
‘I understand.’
Dante stood. ‘We will depart tomorrow for Skyfall. There will be a small contingent. You, me, and a handful of men. For the rest we shall rely on the Imperial Fleet. See that you are ready.’ Dante looked to the armourer on the platform.
‘New armour, a gift from Incarael of the Blade,’ said Mephiston. ‘My old battleplate no longer fits.’
‘Until tomorrow, then.’
‘As you command.’ Mephiston spoke louder. ‘Dante?’
‘Yes?’
‘Will you cross the Rubicon? You spoke of honesty, so I will speak honestly. You are hiding your wounds. I feel your pain.’
Dante paused before he nodded. ‘My injuries from the Devastation are not healing properly. I must take the crossing, if the council allows me to. I am weary. This body of mine has lived too long. As the transformation brought you control, perhaps it can bring me vigour. I have much to do. Without the transformation I may die.’
‘You might if you try.’
‘Change offers the greatest rewards,’ said Dante.
‘You have more to accomplish than any other man. You should wait.’
‘That is why I want to be able to trust you, Mephiston,’ said Dante. ‘I need you. The Imperium needs you. I want this matter of the threat you supposedly pose laid to rest for good. It is time we moved on. Too many foes demand our attention. When you arrive on the battlefield, I want our enemies to take fear and our allies to rejoice. I want no doubt about you. I want no doubt in you. You are to be an emblem of Imperial might, not a symbol for our excesses or our failures. You have one opportunity to prove yourself.’
‘I will not fail you,’ said the Lord of Death.
‘I am counting on that,’ said Dante. ‘Until tomorrow.’
He left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DESERVING MEN
Shortly after Dante returned to Skyfall, Admiral Danakan received a summons. He welcomed the distraction, and he wished to hear the end of Dante’s story.
‘I am glad you could attend me,’ Dante said, when he arrived. ‘I find our conversations a pleasant diversion.’
‘I am glad you invited me here,’ said Danakan.
‘How do your duties go?’ asked Dante.
‘As well as they can. Resupplying the Dominance is proving difficult. There is a paucity of materiel here.’
‘We are in the early stages of establishing Baal as a fleet centre,’ said Dante. ‘And as a governmental centre. You must forgive us.’
‘I did not mean to criticise,’ said Danakan hurriedly.
‘No criticism was heard,’ said Dante. ‘I require men like you to overcome these problems for me. I cannot do everything myself. Baal has to change. We have much to do.’ He stopped, and looked Danakan up and down. ‘I see you insisted on wearing your dress uniform again,’ said Dante. He waved a thrall forward out of the shadows.
Danakan handed his coat to the thrall. ‘I would say that I do it to show you respect, or to maintain standards. The real reason is less noble. It is a form of armour, my lord. While I wear this ridiculous brocade and all these medals I didn’t earn, I feel almost worthy of other people’s admiration.’
‘I understand,’ said Dante. ‘Please, sit down. You are well?’
‘I am better, my lord. The work helps. I do not suffer the visions now, but I have yet to recover my confidence.’ Danakan sat with a tired sigh. ‘When I was a younger man, I was arrogant. I was so sure of myself, I would have stood in front of you and you would have despised me for my lack of humility. As I got older, and rose in the ranks, I realised that I did not know everything. In fact, I knew very little. But my confidence remained. I was bloody-minded, sure I could learn what I needed to learn.’
‘You became admiral. You must have been right about your ability.’
Danakan shook his head. ‘I don’t think I was. If I were, then why did I lose my certainty? I made only one mistake, but it was a mistake so profound that the scales fell from my eyes. I am a man of middling ability. I got where I am because of my family, because of my background, because I shouted loudest, and insisted longest. How many others of better quality faded into the background?’
‘So you ask yourself how many of those men would have made the same mistake, if they would at all.’
‘I do.’
‘It is a pointless question,’ said Dante. ‘Wine,’ he called. Silent thralls hurried forward to do his bidding. ‘You are where you are, whether you believe you deserve to be or not. You must make the best of what ability you have in order to better serve those who depend on you. I have felt doubt. I feel it now. It was argued when I was appointed that I was not ready for the task of leading the Chapter. They were right, but there was no one else.’
‘What happened?’ asked Danakan, gratefully accepting a goblet of wine.
‘You recall the Chapter fleet was ambushed while withdrawing from Kallius?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I shall continue,’ said Dante. ‘During the fighting, it became apparent the servants of the enemy did not only want to take our ships, they wanted to destroy our Chapter…’
Bolts flared as their rocket motors kicked in, speeding them down the approach way on streaks of orange light. Each slash of fire ended in a white explosion, and the curses of the wounded. Adeptus Astartes rarely screamed.
Dante and Lorenz took shelter behind a smashed supply train lying across the spinal way. The enemy had chosen a good place for their ambush. The area had little cover. The rest of Dante’s company were spread out, lying behind their own dead or clinging to what little protection the ship’s architecture provided.
‘We are missing heavier fire support!’ Lorenz voxed over the throaty chugging of an autocannon. White-hot bullets screamed down the passageway.
‘We have what we have,’ said Dante.
‘What we have,’ said Lorenz, putting a bolt-round into the vulnerable throat armour of a Heretic Astartes, ‘are pistols and melee weapons. They’re not going to come to us, it will be suicide to charge up there into this, and they know it.’
‘But we must,’ said Dante. ‘We have to join the Chapter Master, or the Bloodcaller is lost.’ He stood up from his cover.
‘Dante, for the love of the Great Angel! They’ll kill you! They’ll kill us all.’
The traitors zeroed in on Dante the moment he emerged. Tracer rounds belted down the corridor, searing the air with magnesium trails. A shell hit Dante square in the chest, screaming off his aquila and rocking him sideways. His stabilising jets gave out a burst of gas and his armour whined as he righted himself.
‘We don’t know if Remael is still alive. Dante! Get down!’
‘Stay there if you like, sergeant,’ Dante said. He broke into a jog, dodging aside as a burst of autocannon rounds sped through the air he had occupied.
‘You are too eager for death,’ Lorenz said. He stood too and signalled the men. ‘Blood Angels of the Eighth Company!’ he shouted. His voxmitter turned his voice into a bellowing roar loud enough to be heard over the racket of the battle. ‘Stand!’
They emerged in ones, pairs, and by squad. One immediately went down in a burst of sparks. A blizzard of return fire from bolt pistols drove the enemy back long enough for the rest to come out and follow after Dante.
‘Forward,’ said Dante, accelerating into a thumping run. ‘Into them. Leave not one alive.’
‘For the Great Angel!’ Lorenz said, holding aloft his chainsword. ‘For Sanguinius! For the Emperor!’
The roar of dozens of chainblades outcompeted the bang of bolt-rounds.
Dante picked out a helmetless warrior whose face was covered by a breathing grille framed by a silver maw. The elaborate chasing of his battleplate marked him out as a champion of the traitors. Skulls hung from knotted cords in a fringe around his pauldrons. Dante fired at him as he ran, his plasma pistol carving gouges into the warrior’s shoulder, yet his enemy stood ready, firing at Dante with a daemon-faced boltgun that spat a stream of rounds from a drum-magazine. The champion’s aim was good, his shots slamming in clusters around Dante’s hearts, but his armour held, and he drew near the hated enemy unharmed.
The charge was costly. Dante’s company released a wall of bolts and plasma streams to keep the enemy back, disrupting their fire, but there were a great many of the foe, and they managed to bring down several of the Blood Angels before the lines of black and red clashed together.
Space Marines at full sprint hit with the force of a cavalry charge of old. Some of the traitor warriors were bowled over by the force of the impact, knocked from their feet and sent skidding down the polished metal of the deck, where they were easy prey for quick bolt and plasma blasts. Dante’s opponent had time to set his feet, engage his maglocks and brace, causing Dante to rebound from the impact. The warrior dropped his bolter, and drew a mismatched pair of ancient blades from scabbards at his belt, both looted from warriors loyal to the Emperor. One bore the ultima of the Ultramarines, another a snarling wolf’s head. They came blazing towards Dante in a haze of disruption lightning. The champion was fast. Dante barely got his axe up in time to deflect the swords. The blades came in quick succession, the first a feint that could be turned to deadly purpose, the second a strike that could serve as a secondary feint. Dante twisted his hand slightly, flicking his axe head enough to deflect one blade then the next. His opponent responded with a double-handed drive forward that slammed Dante’s axe haft into his chest, staggering him. He let off a blast from his plasma pistol, ignoring the squealing of its machine-spirit as the gun’s coils overheated. The champion shoulder-barged him, and the stream went wild, scoring a molten channel into the ceiling that spattered the combatants with droplets of metal.
In seconds the lines of Space Marines were thoroughly mixed, a maelstrom of blood red and midnight black. Warriors who shared a common origin vented millennia of hatred. No quarter was expected on either side. They were tightly packed, banging into each other. Guns went off at close range, the flash of their discharge illuminating faces twisted with unreasoning rage.
Dante ducked a blow from the Chaos champion. A falling traitor smashed into him as he fell, multiple bolt-craters bright red in his black battleplate. Dante staggered. The champion pressed his advantage, using his fallen comrade as a step to launch himself, bearing down on the staggering Dante. Again Dante deflected the champion’s strikes, though only just, for he came in from high left then low right, spinning his blades around in dazzling patterns. He never stopped moving, twirling his weapons in his hands so that they flared and buzzed. Dante kept his axe ready to strike, husbanding his strength for a decisive blow. The axe was slow but powerful, the swords fast. Lightning stabbed out in all directions as Dante smashed back the warrior’s attacks. The champion stared constantly at Dante’s face, his eyes furious and bloodshot, yellowed whites glowering beneath a brow twisted by ritual scarification. He did not boast, as many followers of the Dark Gods did, he did not taunt, but fought with a silent, furious efficiency that drove the young captain back.
