The Relentless Dead, page 20
Decisively, she pushed herself to her feet and stomped out of the room. She spared not a glance for the vox-operator, who scurried back to her post.
As she crossed the main chamber again, her last doubts drained away. Saint Josefina watched over all her supplicants, and the echoing whispers from the chapel enwrapped her like a blanket. In a corner of Serafina’s mind arose the fleeting thought that evening prayer was surely over, but this was soon forgotten. She felt as if the saint herself spoke to her. She commended her for standing strong against those weak and fearful men who knew not the power of her faith.
Serafina basked in that approval. Her momentary doubt had been a weakness to be overcome. No witch had any power in this sacred place, only what she ceded to them by such suspicions. The mausoleum was protected. Serafina had no cause to feel concerned. She would stand firm.
XIV
Graven found his watchmaster rather than the other way around. As the latter emerged from the Krieg stores with fresh nutrient and power packs – the quartermaster had no frag grenades to spare – his colonel was waiting for him.
The compound bustled with activity as Vostroyan staff and servitors erected a new medicae hut and dug a mass grave beyond the chain-link fence. The watchmaster noticed an Attilan tending to a horse whose rider had been lost.
Graven was pensive as he led the way to the office allocated to him, rarely used. At the door, the watchmaster cleared his throat. ‘Colonel, you should know that last night Commissar Skarangard approached me. Anything you say to me, I am under orders to share with her.’
Graven said nothing. He opened the door and ushered the watchmaster past him into the office. The watchmaster was surprised to find Skarangard waiting inside. They acknowledged each other with stiff nods.
The colonel took a seat behind his desk and motioned to the others to sit too. Unsettled, the watchmaster did so. Graven hesitated for a second before speaking, which was another ominous sign.
‘Last night,’ he said at length, ‘another spectre paid me a visit.’
The watchmaster stiffened. ‘How did I not know this?’ Reacting exactly as Graven had known he would.
‘It came and went unseen,’ he explained brusquely, such details beside his point. ‘Perhaps it whispered to me through the wall. Whatever. By now, I know their voices, even in my dreams.’
He had lain on his bedroll, brain full of thoughts, accepting he would not find sleep tonight. The next he knew, he was waking in a sweat, a fresh nightmare fading from his memory. He must have made a noise, as a sentry had looked in on him. Graven had dismissed her. The spectre was already gone, he had been sure of that.
‘You should know this,’ he continued, ‘because the spectres turn guilt into doubt, and I… I have been wrestling with both.’
He let the words hang in the air. He expected a reaction, but the masked faces of the watchmaster and commissar both betrayed nothing of their thoughts. ‘On Maximus Arkanos,’ he expounded, ‘I made a decision that still haunts me.’
Skarangard spoke up, then. ‘I am aware of what happened on Maximus Arkanos and the part you played in it.’ Graven looked at her, surprised. ‘I requested a transcript of the subsequent tribunal. It was my job to know.’
He turned to his watchmaster, who, with more reticence, admitted, ‘I overheard the details from Inquisitor Idelax.’
‘I see,’ said Graven, wrong-footed.
‘Sir, Krieg high command judged that you acted properly.’
‘The fact remains that had I only followed orders, a thousand Death Korpsmen might still be alive, striving for our world’s atonement. I chose a different path – and with good reason, I do not say otherwise – but equally it cannot be denied that I chose wrong.’
Skarangard cut to the heart of the matter. ‘Why tell us this now?’
‘Because,’ said Graven, ‘through some ironic twist of fate, or because I am being tested, I now face a similar decision.’
‘And you doubt your own judgement?’
Nightmare fragments flashed behind his eyes. The images were horribly familiar. His comrades writhed and screamed in a nuclear inferno, blaming him. They swore that they would never cease tormenting him, and they had a new charge to level against him.
‘Bad enough our lives were expended so cheaply.’
‘Now you risk our regiment’s honour.’
‘You disgrace the only name we could ever lay claim to.’
Why me? he had asked himself in anguish. Why do they still target me, when I thought my guilt laid to rest? He had only been able to think of one possible reason.
The commissar awaited an answer to her question. Clearly and firmly, Graven stated it. ‘No. This time, I have no doubts.’
‘This is the situation.’
Graven thrust himself to his feet to pace the narrow space behind his desk. As if, by releasing his confession, he had energised himself. The watchmaster hadn’t seen him like this before.
‘Beneath our feet, beneath the surface of Oleris III, heretics have spent centuries in hiding, scheming, plotting, growing stronger. Witches have refined their necromantic arts. Bestial foot-soldiers have been bred, vile apparitions conjured. Even Traitor Space Marines have swelled their ranks.’
‘We know this, Colonel Graven,’ said Skarangard, impatiently.
‘And now they have revealed to us their ultimate ambition.’
‘Which is?’
‘To raise this planet’s dead, as they did outside Sanctuary two nights ago. I believe that was merely a test run.’
‘Or maybe, that night, they showed us the limits of their power.’
The watchmaster said, ‘Sir, what of the incident that brought an inquisitor here? What of the lord and lady and their son?’
‘We know that not only spectres have been freed from the immaterium,’ said the colonel.
‘One tried to usurp Idelax’s very soul,’ the watchmaster recalled, ‘but was resisted by him at dreadful expense. Who knows how many other such attempts have been successful?’
‘I believe these beings – let us name them truly, daemons – give the witches all the power they need to raise a zombie army, numbering in the hundreds of billions, carrying the Chaos plague beneath their fingernails.’ Graven pre-empted the commissar’s next objection. ‘Why else would a Tallyman come here, but to catalogue the spread of the infection?’
For a moment, there was silence as the trio considered that scenario.
The watchmaster thought about his battles with a mere few dozen zombies. The numbers advanced by Graven were unthinkable. Oleris would be swiftly overrun, that much was certain, but then what? To other worlds, their numbers swelled by fallen foes on this one? The watchmaster himself now an unthinking soldier in their army? He protested, ‘We cannot allow it.’
‘On that, of course we are agreed,’ said Skarangard.
‘I believe there is but one way to stop it,’ declared Graven.
Graven ceased his pacing, standing straight-backed, fixing his commissar and watchmaster in turn with his gaze. They must have known, at least suspected, what he would ask of them. He was giving them time to process the magnitude of it before he said the words.
‘How many squads do we have in the catacombs?’ he asked. ‘Krieg and Vostroyans together?’
‘Something in the region of one hundred and ten,’ Skarangard guessed.
‘How many witches have been discovered?’
‘Not every squad has been able to report in yet.’
‘Either there are far fewer than we thought – which, given all they’ve done, I find unlikely – or they are still hiding from us. In which case, the question arises, where is left for them to hide?’
‘Sir,’ the watchmaster offered, ‘the influenced Vostroyan squad may have come close to their sanctum.’
Graven agreed: ‘As must we when we followed in their footsteps.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Skarangard, in a tone that made him picture her eyes narrowing.
‘Let me reframe my question. Where in those catacombs are we not looking? Where do we dare not tread?’
She leapt to her feet. ‘You don’t mean…?’ she spluttered, scandalised. Clearly, she had not foreseen this detail.
‘Commissar,’ said Graven firmly, ‘as I told you, I have no doubt about this, none at all, and the reason is that, last night, a spectre whispered to me in my dreams and tried to make me doubt.’
Skarangard was forced to consider that point.
Graven pressed his advantage. ‘Oleris’ witches hide in the crypt of Saint Josefina, beneath her Grand Mausoleum.’
He glanced at his watchmaster, who sat in rigid silence.
‘I imagine they tunnelled up inside it decades ago, and if any scrap of bone escaped destruction’ – he caught the commissar’s intake of breath – ‘then the consecrated earth in which they lie is by now thoroughly despoiled.’
‘You outlined this theory to Colonel Petrakov?’ asked Skarangard. She sounded as disturbed as the Krieg watchmaster felt.
‘As far as he was willing to listen.’
‘You suggested that he…’ Words failed the commissar.
Graven had no such problem. ‘Break open Saint Josefina’s crypt.’
‘And his reaction?’
‘Much the same as yours.’
‘Then that is an end to it. Petrakov is commander-in-chief here, he makes the decisions. To say nothing of the Adepta Sororitas.’
Graven asked bluntly, ‘What if Petrakov is wrong?’
Skarangard countered, ‘What if he is right and you are wrong?’
‘Then I will face the consequences of my actions.’
‘But,’ the watchmaster interjected, ‘no lives will have been lost.’
The commissar turned to glare at him.
‘And I have no doubt,’ said Graven, ‘while Petrakov does. Tell me you haven’t seen it. Doubt that holds us back when logic tells us what must be.’
The watchmaster frowned. ‘Might spectres have whispered to him too? Or worse?’
‘We can’t know that,’ said Graven.
‘And yet you know better than he does,’ said Skarangard, accusingly, ‘because of your own spectre? A spectre unseen by you or by anybody else?’
‘I understand your reservations,’ said Graven.
‘I should hope so.’
The watchmaster looked at his colonel, really looked at him. He saw the almost imperceptible stoop in his shoulders as if a great weight lay upon them. His nervous energy of earlier had ebbed, and he seemed tired. His rebreather mask still bore its zombie scars, as if he had lacked time – or not cared – to replace it.
‘Sir,’ he said directly, ‘what are you asking of us?’
‘On this world of doubt,’ said Colonel Graven, ‘I want, I need, you both to trust me.’
Graven remembered:
Standing in the dock before a panel of one general and two marshals. As a captain, never had he been addressed by such high-ranking officers before. Never had he even seen a Krieg-born general.
He remembered the thrum of deck plates through his feet, reminding him that he stood aboard an orbiting grand cruiser, despite the cathedral-like opulence of the tribunal chamber. He had wondered how any Krieg could thrive in such surroundings without becoming soft.
He had delivered his solemn testimony to a row of blank, masked faces. Whatever judgement they pronounced upon him, it would be the Emperor’s will and he was ready to accept it.
So he had told himself. Now, as he faced judgement once again, he knew that to have been a lie.
‘What if I speak with Colonel Petrakov?’ Skarangard suggested. ‘He might be more amenable to me.’ To someone non-Krieg-born, who shows her face, she did not have to say.
‘To what end?’ Graven asked.
‘To satisfy myself that he has given your proposal due consideration.’
‘And how about you, commissar?’
She hesitated. ‘I… accept its logic.’
‘Then I have your full support?’
Still, she prevaricated. ‘I will put your case to Petrakov, and look for any sign that he is influenced.’
‘Whether he is influenced or not is immaterial. What if his decision stands? If he wavers, but the Sisters overrule him?’
‘Let’s not cross that bridge too soon.’
The watchmaster felt he would have left the matter there. The commissar had listened, offered hope. Graven had the bit between his teeth, however. ‘What will you do if Petrakov condemns this world, condemns us all, by stubbornly refusing to accept what any eye can see?’
‘More pertinently, colonel,’ Skarangard bit back, ‘what will you do?’
‘I think you know the answer to that question,’ said Graven.
The watchmaster’s chest tightened. He edged forward in his seat. ‘You already gave the word. To surround the mausoleum.’
Graven nodded. ‘Regardless of Petrakov, Serafina or anybody else, I have my duty. I will fight to save Oleris III.’
‘Even if you must disobey orders?’ asked Skarangard.
‘As I did once before.’
‘That time, you were cut off from Colonel Kleber. You had discretion to adapt to a changing situation. No court-martial would acquit you this time.’
‘Not if I am wrong.’
‘You might be repeating the greatest mistake of your career.’
‘Hence I needed you to know about Maximus Arkanos. I needed you to have the full facts at your disposal before you made your own decisions.’
‘To follow you,’ said Skarangard, ‘or not.’
He was at their mercy now.
Either one of them had the authority, if they suspected his motives or his sanity, to relieve Graven of his command. He prayed it would not come to that, but if it did there would be no point in resisting.
‘I can’t do this alone,’ he said. ‘I need my officers’ support and my watchmaster’s most of all. I need the commissars attached to my regiment to fulfil their traditional role, to ensure that my orders are obeyed even when my Korpsmen find themselves opposed by those who also serve the Emperor.’
‘Even if they doubt you,’ muttered Skarangard.
‘I know I am not mistaken.’
‘This time.’
They would chain him in the dungeons beneath the Ecclesiarchal Tower. He was fully aware that he was asking these two comrades to risk being chained alongside him. Waiting for a ship to take them to meet their judgement. No, waiting for the world to end.
‘Many squads will not have checked in yet,’ said the commissar. ‘They won’t have their new instructions, while others will already be en route. Petrakov will soon see what you’re planning, before you are ready to act.’
‘I am aware of that.’
Skarangard thought a while longer. Then she reiterated, ‘I will speak to him. That has to be the first step.’
This time, Graven nodded and let her go. He sensed that he had pushed her as far as he could, for the present. She had listened, understood and not condemned him out of hand, for which he felt grateful. It meant that, despite what she knew about him, what she had always known, she had at least a measure of trust in him.
With Skarangard gone, the watchmaster felt the full force of the colonel’s attention turned upon him. It was his turn to decide.
‘Sir, I disagree with you on one point,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘The Krieg will follow you, regardless of the view of any commissar.’
‘Even those who know my… history?’
‘Other regiments have been compromised. Even those who haven’t seen it will have heard of Vostroyans and Attilans succumbing to the spectres. Given conflicting orders, we will obey none but yours.’
‘Did you never doubt me?’ Graven asked him.
He answered frankly. ‘For a time, I did. Until I realised – until an ally made me realise – that doubt plays into our enemies’ hands. On Krieg, we were trained not to doubt, and now more than ever I see why. Doubt makes me weak, and I reject it.’ It really was that simple, after all.
The watchmaster stood and pulled himself to attention. ‘Colonel Graven,’ he said, ‘what are your orders?’
Petrakov consulted with one of his own commissars. The commissar deputised two Vostroyan Guardsmen. The four-strong squad set off across the compound towards the Krieg command centre. To Colonel Graven’s office.
Petrakov had received a vox-call from Serafina. Once again, he had found their conversation quite uncomfortable. She had asked why his forces were mustering in her vicinity, and he had been unable to tell her.
The forces in question, he had ascertained, were Krieg Death Korpsmen – which had only inflamed his suspicions.
Earlier that afternoon, he had accepted a meeting with the husky-voiced Krieg commissar. She had tried to persuade him that Graven’s insane plan, to launch an assault upon the Grand Mausoleum, was not so insane. Though he would never have admitted to it, he had struggled to refute her points.
He had fallen back on the same argument, repeatedly. ‘The Adepta Sororitas simply won’t allow it.’
‘You have the authority to overrule them,’ Skarangard had insisted.
‘The Sister Superior is intractable on this point.’
‘As is Colonel Graven.’ It had sounded like a threat.
Petrakov had told himself not to worry. He felt that, lately, he had worried overmuch. His first command of an Imperial army. Of course he would second-guess himself, especially when undermined by officers from other regiments. Officers with more experience than I.
He couldn’t help but worry now.
‘I am not accusing,’ he had stressed to his own commissar. ‘I simply have questions to put to Colonel Graven, and I – especially in light of the inquisitor’s concerns about him and subsequent death in Graven’s presence – would like you to hear his answers.’ And then the decision will be yours.
