Throne of light, p.41
Throne Of Light, page 41
‘A man after my own heart,’ she said, and filled it very full.
Rostov took a large mouthful.
‘I am changing. The universe is changing. There are forces moving here that defy mortal comprehension. My abilities are getting stronger. I am not the only one. There are people out there, right now, who have never so much as evinced the merest flash of psychic talent who find themselves sudden witches. The number of recorded psykers is going up across the Imperium, more so in the sectors bordering the Rift. The abilities of psykers like myself are growing. And yet these matters are the remit of the Ordo Malleus and the Ordo Hereticus. Now I ask myself, should I step back, and return to my border wars and my fight in the dark places against the vermin that would usurp our worlds? Or is this more important? Is there something happening that is more important than anything?’
His voice changed, becoming sharper.
‘Fabian Guelphrain. I understand that your historitors have made great strides in cataloguing the data-logs of the relay.’
How he knew that, Fabian did not know. He could have guessed, he could have intuited it with his powers, but he said it with such certainty it was obvious he just knew, for a fact. That suggested informants somewhere. Fabian was not surprised.
‘We have.’
‘And you have noticed a pattern?’
‘We have.’
‘Will you share with us what that pattern is?’
Fabian cleared his throat. Even he could not deny a direct request from an inquisitor.
‘It was as Adept Rumagoi said. A sense of immanence. A sense of overwhelming power. There are multiple references to a winged figure seated on a throne. That figure stands. I’m no expert in the warp but I can take a guess at what that might mean.’
‘I have seen this too. At the end there, when the choir began to speak as one. They said, “He is coming.”’
‘Is it…’ said Fabian. His mouth was inexplicably dry. He could not bring himself to voice the thought. ‘Is it Him?’
‘That is the question, is it not?’ Rostov shifted decisively in his chair, leaning in, the action of a man who has taken an important decision. ‘I will tell you something few people know. Some time ago, there was a notable action undertaken by a pair of inquisitors named Alexio and Fortez, a successful endeavour. Despite the fact that the pair of them had diametrically opposing views on many matters of philosophy, they deemed this particular threat so great they combined forces.
‘The target of this action was a group named the Cult of the Star Child. There was fanciful talk among this cult that the Star Child was some kind of benevolent entity that would lead mankind to salvation, perhaps an expression of the Emperor, god made flesh again. It was all lies, and the cult was rooted out, and destroyed at a gathering on Levilnor IV with the aid of the Salamanders Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. However, four of their leaders escaped.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I wonder if this evil is seeping back into the universe.’ Rostov turned his glass around in his gloved hands. ‘Belief is a very dangerous thing.’ He leaned forward a little further, and Fabian thought he seemed old beyond his years. ‘Now the other matter. The Hand of Abaddon.’
‘I know the name.’
‘I am aware, but explain to me what you know. I want to hear it from your lips.’
‘While we were on Gathalamor some of the prisoners taken from among the cultists spoke of the Hand of Abaddon,’ said Fabian. ‘Fellows of yours, other inquisitors, they found all this out. I am sure they would be better able to help you.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But you are here and I am asking you.’
‘The Hand opposed the primarch on Gathalamor. There was some kind of weapon, very powerful, warp-powered. It took out a whole battle group, more or less.’
‘A mutant, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Fabian. ‘A sorcerer. An evil witch. Some said his name was Tenebrus. There was another there, Kar-Gatharr, they said, a Word Bearer. He was slain in combat with the Adeptus Custodes. Some of the prisoners named him as the Hand instead.’
Rostov drank more of his drink.
‘It was not the Heretic Astartes who was the Hand, but this Tenebrus, I think. I saw him in the relay, on Srinagar. There is some connection between this child and he, and the relay. I am certain that is why this system was attacked in the first place. But there is a problem. I have been chasing the Hand of Abaddon since the Battle of Machorta Sound.’
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a rolled-up pict, and smoothed it out in front of Fabian. It was grainy, and captured at an odd angle, but clearly showed two figures: a mutant of hideous aspect, and a human female.
‘Is this Tenebrus? Is this the Hand of Abaddon?’
Fabian examined it closely, then nodded. ‘Going from the descriptions I had on Gathalamor, yes, it is.’
‘I see.’ He sipped his drink. ‘I stated his title to him. He admitted it himself. We must therefore assume that he is the Hand.’
‘You sound displeased,’ said Fabian. ‘This is a breakthrough, surely? Forgive me, I am not an inquisitor, but if one of my investigations were progressing as well as that, I would be happy. Even though it has not reached its conclusion, you are closer to the end, and the destruction of this enemy of the Emperor.’
Rostov nodded. ‘That would be so,’ he said. ‘Only, after the Battle of Machorta Sound, I interrogated one of the Word Bearers priests. Delving into his mind was a dark and damaging exercise, but in his memory I was able to see the Hand. The man I saw matched descriptions collated by my master, Inquisitor Dyre, before his death, though we did not have the title then.’
‘Then what is the problem?’ said Fabian.
Rostov tapped the pict. ‘The Hand of Abaddon my master was following, the person I saw in the mind of the priest?’ He shook his head. ‘It was not this man.’
‘Master?’ Tharador Yheng spoke quietly. The shades were restive, dangerous. It would take them days to calm down after their excitement. Her words, said so quietly, set them rattling. She gripped the tray she carried more tightly.
‘Master?’
Tenebrus sat in meditation, eyes closed, long-fingered hands clasped over his chest. He looked more inhuman than ever, his relaxed face closer to that of a carcharodon than a man. His skin was grey-white, face strangely round; his lips had all but disappeared, leaving his mouth a slit. His nose was receding, she noticed. He was changing, engaged in the race that all sorcerers must complete, outrunning mutation that would strip them of humanity to attain their goal of power. His wound was still raw. Seepage glued his robe to his side, and there was no certainty that when he healed the gift of Tzeentch would not return. She felt a stirring of pity for him.
‘Master,’ she said a little more loudly. ‘I have brought you refreshment.’
She put the tray down. There was a ewer of wine and a goblet, and a thick steak carved from the leg of a slave bred and fattened for the slaughter. Tenebrus’ appetite for human flesh had become so acute it required its own logistics to feed.
‘Master,’ she said again, and dared to reach out to touch his shoulder. The shades did not like that, and they hissed warningly.
Tenebrus’ head rolled towards her. His eyes opened a slit, showing starkly black in his pallid face.
‘Tharador Yheng,’ he said. ‘For what reason do you disturb my meditations?’
‘You must eat, master, for your wound to heal.’
‘Must I?’ he said. He looked at the meat and the wine, then unfolded himself, and reached for the goblet. ‘You are very solicitous,’ he said. ‘Yet I feel I have rewarded you many times over for the little loyalty you have shown me.’
‘I do not understand, master.’
‘I have revealed most of my secrets.’ He smiled sharp teeth at her. ‘It is time you repaid the favour. You must choose your path, now.’
He was on his feet serpent-swift, taking her by surprise, arm shooting out, clawed hand held before him. A great force clamped hold of Tharador Yheng’s throat and flung her backwards. She squirmed in the invisible grip of sorcery, trying to free herself before she was slammed into the wall crawling with shades behind her, but they hissed, and moved aside.
Tenebrus walked towards her, still limping, his wound bleeding again, but his power was undiminished.
‘You were sent to me by Kar-Gatharr to spy,’ he said. ‘I have known it since the start of our association.’ He waved a hand, and in the air an image appeared, wavering as if projected on a wall of boiling smoke: she and Kar-Gatharr in their final communion years ago. ‘When Kar-Gatharr first brought you to my chamber upon Gathalamor, I saw potential in you.’ His hideous smile widened. ‘You truly are blessed by the gods. But the gods can be cruel, and they set us against each other. He tried to induct you into his faith. The question is, how far did he succeed?’ He moved his fingers closer together, causing the pressure on Yheng’s neck to grow. ‘I have told you that the only useful service a person can accomplish in this universe of ours is to themselves. So I ask you, Tharador Yheng, whom do you serve? My plans enter a dangerous phase. I cannot have an acolyte who will whisper every word I say into Kor Phaeron’s ear. Answer truthfully. I will know if you lie.’ His voice had acquired a fiend’s growl.
She struggled to speak, her hands clawing at the unseen fingers around her neck.
‘I serve myself!’ she croaked. ‘None but myself! I always have. I always will. I would kill you if it would make me more powerful. I care nothing for anything, or anyone.’
‘Why do you seek power?’
‘I…’ she choked. ‘I… will be… no… man’s… slave! I wish to be free!’
‘I see,’ he said. He opened his fingers wide. She fell down hard to the floor, cutting her knees on the deck plates, where she knelt, heaving for breath.
He hobbled over to her, and got down beside her. He put a finger under her chin and lifted it, until she was looking deep into his black eyes. His breath made the chains on her cheeks swing.
‘Poor Kar-Gatharr would be most disappointed. You have strayed far from his path.’
Yheng forced words out of her raw throat. ‘I learned what I could from him, but already by the time the primarch’s armies came to Gathalamor I could see the limitations of what he taught me. It is the nature of all tutelaries to see their motivations in the hearts of their students, whether they are there or not. I would have discarded him if he had not died.’
‘There’s a warning for me there, I suppose,’ he said.
‘I have served you faithfully since then,’ she said. ‘Why doubt me?’
‘Because that is not true. Since I plucked you from the surface of the cardinal world, you have looked both ways,’ he said. ‘You have been considering betraying me to Kor Phaeron, and following Kar-Gatharr’s wishes.’
‘But I did not, and I will not.’
‘No,’ said Tenebrus. He released her face and stood. ‘So now you will follow me, until my purpose is outlived, or you find a better teacher?’
She looked up at him. Blood ran from several of her piercings.
‘I will do whatever it takes to ensure I remain free,’ she said. ‘One day I may kill you. I shall not lie. But you have much to teach me.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘It is unhealthy to have competition from those closest to you, but in truth my life has been long, I enjoy your company, and you have such potential. So let us keep our arrangement as before, if you can swear your loyalty to me, until such time as you need me no longer.’
‘I swear,’ she said, and bowed her head in supplication.
‘Well then, until the day we must kill one another,’ he said. ‘It is time to begin the next stage of your education. Where shall I start?’
‘Wherever you wish, master.’ Yheng’s eyes gleamed.
‘What do you want to know, Tharador Yheng? The origins of the knife I carry? The changes that I have undergone? The nature of my power?’
With a tinkle of fine chain, she got to her feet. ‘Teach me it all. I want to know everything, master.’
Tenebrus smiled his wide, wide smile.
‘Then so you shall, my acolyte, so you shall.’
Appendix: Notes on the Crusade
As the last loyal primarch, Roboute Guilliman, returned to Terra after his rebirth, the traitor Kor Phaeron was already preparing for war, constructing a grand strategy to destroy faith in the Emperor and disrupt the supply of psykers to the Golden Throne. After its beginnings at Talledus, the unfolding War of Faith was to prove one of the most serious threats to the early crusade.
ATTACK ON TALLEDUS
Even before the Cicatrix Maledictum tore across the sky, the missionaries of the Word Bearers were at work within the Segmentum Solar, appealing to the downtrodden masses with promises of individual power and freedom most citizens could only dream of. Slowly, surely, these agents implemented Kor Phaeron’s plans against the Imperium. Primarily targeting the shrine and cardinal worlds administered by the Adeptus Ministorum, the Word Bearers seeded heretic cults throughout the segmentum, their efforts increasing when the Rift opened. Then they waited, watching while Guilliman returned to aggressively reorganise the Imperium’s government, then begin to gather the Indomitus Crusade. They bided their time as Guilliman departed Terra, not acting until he was fully invested with the retaking of Gathalamor, until, a little over a year since the Great Rift had opened by local reckoning, Kor Phaeron struck.
The Dark Cardinal launched his war in the Talledus System, Tertius Sector, Segmentum Solar. Talledus was a rich prize, boasting a number of sacred worlds administered from the capital planet of Benediction. Talledus provided an important source of income for the Adeptus Ministorum, with Benediction being one of the most influential Ecclesiarchical worlds in the whole Segmentum Solar. But disruption of the Imperial Church’s income was not the Dark Cardinal’s goal. He was concerned with the currency of souls, seeking to undermine the Emperor by depriving Him of His worshippers, while increasing the power of his own gods. Capitalising on the brutal repression of divergent Imperial sects within the system, Word Bearers priests founded numerous cults, who erupted into rebellion as soon as the signal was given.
Forces of the Word Bearers, Night Lords and Iron Warriors invaded. Initially they were opposed by the Adepta Sororitas. Talledus played host to several Orders, but many more were summoned by visions to the system’s aid. Also present were numerous Astra Militarum regiments both native to Talledus and from elsewhere, while a mixed force of Cadians, Salamanders, Black Templars and White Scars later arrived with Battlefleet Pharas.
On Benediction, the Word Bearers attempted a mass conversion of the populace, but miraculous happenings opposed Kor Phaeron’s warp horrors, and strengthened Imperial faith. Soon after, Captain Mir’san of the Salamanders arrived with a company of his warriors, already blessed with Primaris tech. The warp was thrown into tumult as Word Bearers rituals summoned daemonic hordes, only for them to be cast back by the miraculous rising of the blessed dead from the grave.
Out in the Tears of the Emperor asteroid belt, Night Lords using blasphemous psychic technology to lure Imperial ships to their doom were hunted down by Vanguard Space Marines of the White Scars.
More successfully, the Iron Warriors attacked the world of Ghreddask. The sons of Perturabo deployed the Scarax Krond, a Soul Harvester, a gargantuan drop-fortress housing daemon engine manufactoria. As soon as it landed, the Scarax Krond began creating armies of daemon engines, which spread out across the world. Knight House Mortan opposed the landing, but the Soul Harvester was protected by the fallen houses of Khomentis and Vrachul, and Mortan suffered badly at their hands. Castellan Dramos of the Black Templars Rutherian Crusade was later to make planetfall on Ghreddask, and attack the Scarax Krond; however, he was unsuccessful in his attempt to destroy it, and was slain in the process.
HUNT FOR THE BLACK SHIPS
Kor Phaeron left the ongoing war at Talledus, heading out to orchestrate further uprisings and attacks across the Segmentum Solar, almost always on worlds holy to the Imperium. For the second part of his strategy he unleashed specially assembled hunter fleets of his Legion. Provided with the most capable Navigators, guided by the fell sorceries of the Powers, these small, fast armadas sought out the Black Ships while they were in the warp. Already the Imperial Tithe had been seriously compromised, leading to a disruption of the delivery of psykers to fuel the Golden Throne and a build-up of psychic individuals that certain worlds struggled to contain.
In order to re-establish supply lines, the Adeptus Astra Telepathica had gathered its Black Ships into the ‘Flights of Crows’ that followed the battle groups of the crusade fleets, descending in carrion flocks to strip reconquered worlds of witches. Elsewhere, the usual smaller groupings were formed into larger fleets to offer protection. However, large parts of the Segmentum Solar were regarded as less dangerous than elsewhere, so the Black Ships often had their escorts reduced to support vessels heading into more deadly territory, leaving them vulnerable to the predations of Kor Phaeron’s Word Bearers.
THE PSYCHIC AWAKENING
Wherever they operated, the Black Ships had a daunting task ahead of them. The Great Rift was spilling the stuff of the raw warp into the galaxy at an unprecedented rate, driving the slow evolution of humanity forward. Although the effect was most pronounced in those systems closest to the Rift and other immaterium-materium interfaces, there was a sudden increase in the number of psykers being born right across the Imperium. The true magnitude of their emergence would not be felt for a couple of decades, as newborn humans matured and came into their power, but right from the start, numbers of recorded witches climbed steeply as people with little or no prior psychic ability found themselves developing uncanny powers, while those already possessing these talents began to experience increases in the range and potency of their skills.
