Anarch

Epilogues: One Week Later

Cold daylight streamed in through the preceptory windows. Hark entered the room, the empty sleeve of his leather coat neatly pinned up. Onabel held the door open for him. He nodded his thanks, and she turned and limped away very slowly with the aid of a walking stick. Her injuries had not been physical, but they would take a long time to heal.

‘Commissar,’ said Laksheema. She had been waiting. Her gown was clean and fresh, but he noticed she hadn’t had her golden augmetics repaired. The polished surfaces of her face and body were crazed and scoured. Perhaps she hadn’t had time, he thought, or perhaps she had chosen to leave the scars as they were.

One could only repair one’s self so many times.

‘Are you well?’ he asked.

‘Well enough,’ she said. ‘And you?’

Hark nodded. There was a silence.

‘Neither one of us is good at small talk,’ he remarked. She tilted her head, agreeing.

‘You’ve come to receive my report,’ she said.

‘The Lord Executor awaits it with interest.’

She lifted an actuator wand, and a screen lit. It displayed detailed picts of four eagle stones, side by side.

‘Your Major–’ Laksheema paused and consulted her data-slate. ‘Petrushkevskaya–’

‘Pasha,’ he said.

‘She delivered the recovered stones to the palace under guard,’ said Laksheema. ‘They were received by the ordos. Four had been retrieved intact.’

She flashed up another image. This showed four other shapes, broken into fragments, scorched and cracked, their ancient patterns barely visible.

‘Four other stones were recovered by a Sergeant… Ifvan. They had been subjected to intense burning. A flamer, I understand. They were severely damaged and incomplete, and much detail lost. These were also delivered, and savants are now working on restoration and reconstruction.’

‘Will that be possible?’ asked Hark.

‘Hard to say,’ she replied. ‘It is hard to reconstruct something when you don’t know what it is. Also, all the scanned details and analysis studies made after the original recovery were lost when Mechanicore Fourteen was razed. The EM Fourteen facility had the only copies of the data because it was considered so sensitive. The machine plague – Berserker – devoured it all.’

‘So… it’s all pending?’ Hark said. ‘I thought it might be. The Lord Executor will be particularly keen to know the stones are secure.’

‘They are in the central vault of the capital ship Deluge,’ she replied, ‘and that information, by the way, carries a vermilion classification. As per the Lord Executor’s instruction, the security and examination of the Glyptothek is in the hands of the ordos. The Cult Mechanicus will not be involved.’

‘As I understand, it was hardly their fault,’ said Hark.

‘The adepts failed,’ said Laksheema bluntly. ‘Their security was insufficient. We have received several formal petitions from the Mechanicus, requesting that we release the objects to them, or at least permit their full participation in their analysis. They wish, I think, to know what could be so valuable it cost an entire Mechanicore station. These petitions have been denied. That can be reviewed. It’s not my choice.’

Hark sat back and gazed at the images.

‘We knew they were important,’ said Laksheema. ‘Precious to the Archenemy, at least. I had favoured the explanation that they were of ritual or cult significance, but Sek committed everything he had to their recovery. To me, that suggests the stones have a more strategic function.’

Hark nodded. ‘We have hearsay evidence to support that,’ he said. ‘A report from the field that night. Archenemy combatants discussing the purpose of the stones. It’s not much, but it would appear they are a weapon, or the key to a weapon. A xenos device. Something so monstrous that even they were in awe of it. But something either side could use.’

‘Xenos?’

‘That’s our reading. The word used was “vergoht”. Forgive my pronunciation. I’m told it means alien, forbidden, or against natural order.’

‘Is that all?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s a start. It points us in a direction at least.’

‘But this field evidence, is it reliable?’ Laksheema asked.

‘The source is beyond reproach,’ Hark replied.

Laksheema deactivated the display. They both rose.

‘I’ll convey your report to the Lord Executor,’ he said.

‘I am at his call if anything further is needed,’ she replied, ‘and will contact his office at once if anything new emerges.’

She walked him to the door.

‘Express my regards to him,’ she said. ‘I also wish to convey my sympathies for your regiment’s losses.’

‘Do you?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘Just abstract platitudes, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘You told me you don’t feel, and I believe that.’

‘I am not entirely without feeling, Viktor,’ she said. ‘Not yet at least.’

‘Then I will convey them,’ he replied. ‘I have a feeling that, from here, we will be working in close collaboration for a while to come.’

‘I look forward to it,’ she said. ‘Despite all that occurred, I enjoyed our relationship.’

‘Our working relationship?’ he asked.

‘Is there another kind?’ she replied.

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ said Hark. He smiled. ‘Good day to you, inquisitor.’

Ban Daur moved the lamp. This time there had been no mistake about it. He could hear sobbing. A woman weeping.

He got up, leaving his water bottle and food-pack on the floor, and walked along the hallway, holding the lamp high. The undercroft was empty and silent.

He didn’t dare call her name.

He heard the sobbing again. His heart began to race. Behind the wall? The walls had moved once, though now they seemed dead and solid and inert.

He followed the sound.

He found her in the hall that had served as the central billet. She was perched on the pile of rubble and stone blocks where the vaulted roof had fallen in. A narrow shaft of daylight shone down on her, spearing through the hole in the Hexagonal Court above.

His heart sank.

He clambered up beside her and sat down, setting the lamp next to his feet.

She glanced at him. He was filthy. He hadn’t washed for days. He hadn’t emerged from the undercroft, despite direct orders. He’d only eaten because Haller and Baskevyl had brought him rations.

Tona Criid’s dress uniform was immaculate.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Criid said, wiping her eyes. ‘This is just the first chance I’ve had to come down here. To see.’

Daur nodded.

‘This was the room, wasn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

People had died in every chamber of the old undercroft. Every single one. They’d died in droves in the Urdeshic Palace above, too. But here, in this room, Gol Kolea had died, and Yoncy had perished, and Dalin had –

– had ceased to be Dalin.

‘I just had to see it,’ she said.

‘I understand.’

‘I am at a loss,’ said Criid. ‘They were mine for so long. I took them out of certain death. I never… I never for a moment suspected that–’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Daur. ‘He was clever and he made clever things. Ingenious tricks that fooled everyone. We learned that at Vervunhive. None of us could have guessed how elaborate they could be.’

‘They weren’t tricks to me,’ she said. She let out a slow, calming breath. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without–’

She stopped herself and shot a look at him, ashamed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Feth, I’m sorry, Ban. That was a stupid thing to say.’

He shook his head.

‘It was honest,’ Daur replied. ‘I’m sorry this has happened to you.’

‘Is there…’ she asked. ‘Have you found any trace at all?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing. I thought I might find something that could… could stop me searching. But there’s nothing to find. I just can’t let go of the idea that she’s still here. Behind a wall somewhere. Just shut away by a fold of reality. Trapped on the other side, but alive and whole and waiting. And all I’ve got to do is look hard enough.’

He fell silent.

‘I’m fooling myself, I know,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s just something to cling to.’

He looked at her.

‘Why are you so dressed up?’ he asked.

Tona glanced down at her formal braid and pressed lines.

‘There’s a parade,’ she said.

‘Feth.’

‘I know. A fething parade. Apparently it’s the right thing to do. A show of respect and thanks. To the living and the dead alike. I’m supposed to be there. And I’m going to be late.’

‘And you don’t care?’

‘Feth, no.’

She looked around at the dark walls. The shadows that were just shadows.

‘This is my parade,’ she said.

She looked at him.

‘Will you ever come out of here?’ she asked.

‘They may have to drag me out,’ said Daur. ‘I don’t think I can ever leave.’

‘Ban, I think there are only ghosts here now,’ she said. ‘You can’t live out your life with only ghosts for company.’

He looked at her and almost smiled.

‘Yes, I just heard myself,’ Criid said. ‘Feth, I can only say stupid things today, right?’

He took her hand and held it tight.

They were waiting for him outside his quarters, wearing their dress blacks, but he walked right past them when he came out. His Scion guard, all new appointees unaccustomed to his habits, jumped to follow him.

‘My lord?’ Baskevyl called. He and Pasha scooped up their dress swords and ran to catch him up. ‘My lord, it’s about to start,’ Baskevyl called out.

‘I know,’ said Gaunt, still striding. His own dress uniform, though very plain, was quite imposing. ‘I have to make a visit first.’

He stopped suddenly, and turned to face them. The Scions skidded to a halt.

‘They expect me to write a speech,’ he said to the two company officers. ‘An address. What the feth do you say? After that?’

Baskevyl shrugged.

‘Not much to say,’ Pasha agreed.

‘I know,’ said Gaunt. ‘We won. We survived. Too many didn’t. Thank you for coming. There are drinks on the terrace.’

‘That should do the trick,’ said Baskevyl.

‘Van Voytz was good at this,’ said Gaunt. ‘He could spin a rousing address. Like a bastard.’ He fell silent and stared at the floor.

‘Sir–’ Baskevyl began.

Gaunt looked up.

‘Yes, you came to find me,’ he said. ‘What did you want?’

‘We came to fetch you,’ said Baskevyl.

‘The big hoo-hah is now,’ said Pasha. ‘You are, mmmmm, maybe late?’

‘Consider me fetched,’ said Gaunt. ‘Tell them I’m coming.’

They saluted.

He turned, then swung back to them.

‘Screw the parade,’ he said. ‘That’s all for show, and the dead can’t hear any of it. I want to commend you both, here and now. Face to face, not across a parade ground. The Tanith First excelled. You were both unflinching in the face of… of… feth! My thanks. I want you to convey my gratitude and admiration to all in the regiment. Do this personally. Express my highest regard.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Baskevyl nodded.

‘The process is very slow,’ Gaunt added, ‘because of all the red tape and paperwork, but there will be decorations to follow. Citations for honour and valour. A surprising number. You know who. I may be able to speed that process. It should be easier to issue commendations now the Tanith First is the formal escort brigade of the Lord Executor.’

‘It is?’ asked Baskevyl.

‘Macaroth agreed to it this morning’ said Gaunt. ‘You’ll be the core I build my army group upon, Bask. Your duties will change. It may get very ceremonial from now on.’

‘Ceremonial is nice. Is very restful,’ said Pasha.

‘There’ll be a new pin to wear,’ Gaunt said, gesturing to his collar. ‘I don’t know what else. We’ll work out the details. Now let me run this errand and I’ll join you on the field.’

He made the sign of the aquila and strode away.

The infirmary, its walls and floor painted a pale, gloss green, filled one whole wing of the palace compound. Gaunt strode in with the Scions behind him, and consciously slowed his pace to suit the quiet calm of his surroundings.

‘Stay here,’ he told his bodyguard. They obeyed. Scion Cleeve had not yet found the pluck to argue with him the way Sancto had. Gaunt wondered if Sancto would ever be fit to return to duty.

He wondered if he’d ever want to.

He walked past rooms where medicae staff tended the injured from the retinue, the Tanith, and from all the other regiments and support divisions affected by the onslaught. So many people, yet a fraction of the number killed. There were more trays occupied in the morgue than there were beds filled in the infirmary.

He reached the door of a guarded room. Troopers of the Jovani Vanguard clad in polished chrome armour snapped to attention.

The room was quiet. There was a smell of counterseptic and floor wax, and a very slight trace of islumbine.

Ana Curth saw him, and crossed the room to meet him.

‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘She sleeps still,’ said Curth.

They looked over at the bed where the Beati lay, shrouded by a tent of gauze.

‘Is that normal?’ he asked.

‘Nothing about her is normal,’ Curth replied. ‘Her vitals are improving. There’s colour in her cheeks, steady rhythms. Perhaps a few more days.’

He nodded.

‘She was exhausted before she arrived,’ said Curth. ‘After Oureppan. More drained than she wanted to admit. And then I think she used every spark of power she had left to kill the first woe machine. No thought for herself. We are lucky to still have her.’

‘Well, keep me advised,’ said Gaunt. ‘Macaroth has expressed his concerns.’

‘Of course,’ Curth said. ‘Don’t you have a ridiculous parade to attend or something?’

‘Yes,’ Gaunt said. ‘But I heard he was awake at last.’

‘Earlier this morning,’ she said.

‘I wanted to see him first.’

‘Room at the far end,’ she said.

He looked at her. ‘Well,’ he said.

‘You saved my life, you know,’ Curth said. ‘In the undercroft. Not for the first time.’

‘You’ve saved mine, and more than once.’

‘It’s not a competition,’ she said. ‘Though if it was, I’d be winning.’

‘Your continued duty can never be repaid enough,’ Gaunt replied.

‘Is that a line from your speech?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘Bit rubbish,’ she said.

‘I felt that,’ he said.

Curth smiled. ‘I do what I do because it needs to be done,’ she said.

‘People keep saying that,’ said Gaunt.

‘Do they? Who?’

‘Just the people who matter most,’ he replied.

‘And there,’ she said, ‘I thought you just wanted me for my duty.’

They paused. He glanced around awkwardly.

‘So,’ he said.

‘Indeed,’ she replied.

‘I’ll go and–’

‘You should,’ she said.

He took off his cap, stepped forwards, and kissed her cheek. She stayed very still.

He stood back, and re-set his cap.

‘I’m going now,’ he said.

‘I see that.’

He turned.

She smiled slightly as he walked away.

Zweil was doing his rounds in a nearby ward as Gaunt strode past.

‘He looks busy,’ the old priest remarked to Blenner, who had agreed to accompany Zweil on the infirmary visit.

‘He does,’ said Blenner. ‘Good old Lord Ibram.’

‘Well, they all seem to be coping in here,’ said Zweil. ‘Let’s move along to the next ward, shall we?’

Blenner escorted him out into the hall, moving slowly so he didn’t leave the old, shuffling man behind.

‘They won’t let me bring the bird in,’ Zweil said.

‘So you said, father.’

‘I thought it might cheer people up. But oh no, they say it’s unsanitary. Just because it craps on the floor. I called it Quil, you know?’

‘Also information I already have at my disposal, father,’ said Blenner.

He stopped and turned to Zweil. They were alone in the pale green corridor.

‘Can I ask you something, father?’ Blenner said.

‘Depends on the area,’ replied Zweil with a frown. ‘I’m good on some topics. Like boats. Also, weaving, which I once liked to do. Other subjects, it’s more hit and miss, if I’m honest.’

‘Guilt?’

‘Oh, yes, my my. That’s priesting work. Out with it.’

‘It’s a–’ Blenner cleared his throat. ‘Purely hypothetical, of course. An ethical debate I was having.’

‘With?’ asked Zweil.

‘Sorry?’

‘Who was this ethical debate with?’

‘Oh, uhm… a friend.’

‘Ah yes,’ Zweil said, nodding sagely and tapping the side of his nose with a bony finger. ‘Know him well.’

‘So,’ said Blenner, ‘let’s say a man has done a… a questionable thing. A bad thing. He confesses, to seek absolution.’

‘That’d be the way to go,’ said Zweil, nodding along.

‘But his confessor dies,’ said Blenner. ‘Soon after. Does… does the absolution stand? Is the man still forgiven, or does the burden remain upon him?’

‘Hmmm,’ said Zweil, pondering. ‘That’s a knotty one. Bit of a murky area, philosophically speaking. Here’s what I’d tell this friend of yours, Vaynom. He’s probably all right. In the clear. His conscience all shiny and clean. Because he made confession of his sins, you see? But just to be on the safe side, you know, he should try to be the best fething person he can possibly be for the rest of his born days. See? Just to hedge his bets? In case the absolution didn’t take.’

‘I see,’ said Blenner.

‘Can he do that, do you think? This friend?’

‘I think he can try,’ said Blenner.

‘Good,’ said Zweil, and started to shuffle on his way again. ‘Because, tell him from me, guilt’s a little shit who will bite you on the fething arse and kill you stone dead. No doubt about it.’

Blenner nodded. He wiped his mouth on the back of his trembling hand.

‘Are you coming, Blenner?’ Zweil called. ‘They should have let me bring the bird instead of you, you know? The bird cheers people up. I’m teaching it tricks. You, you’re as much fun as a fart in a dreadnought.’

Merity Chass also saw Gaunt stride past. She was sitting at Fazekiel’s bedside.

‘Do you want to go and talk to him?’ Fazekiel asked.

‘He’s busy,’ said Merity. ‘There’ll be time later.’

Luna Fazekiel nodded. ‘Well, I appreciate the visit,’ she said, ‘but I’m no company. I’m very tired. At least it’s clean in here. Very clean. Very neat.’

She saw that Merity was still staring at the door.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to go and talk to him?’ Fazekiel asked. ‘He is your father.’

‘That’s a work in progress,’ said Merity.

‘You’re awake, then?’ said Gaunt. He took off his cap and sat down at the bedside.

‘Yes, that was a mistake,’ said Rawne. ‘It didn’t hurt when I was unconscious.’

‘I wanted to stop by,’ said Gaunt.

‘I’m honoured,’ said Rawne. He was bandaged from throat to groin, and drips fed into his arms. He looked anaemic, with dark circles around his eyes. ‘I suppose you want to quiz me about the report I gave to Hark this morning?’

‘I read it,’ said Gaunt. ‘Some interesting details. I presume you’re sure about the language used?’

‘I am.’

‘And it wasn’t a hallucination?’

‘Wish I could say it was,’ said Rawne.

‘It provides a lead,’ said Gaunt, ‘and sets up some interesting questions. Regarding the stones, I mean. As for Mabbon, we know more about him now he’s dead than we did when he was alive.’

‘He fought for me, that’s all I know,’ said Rawne. ‘For me and for Varl. Out of honour. Like a daemon.’

‘So I understand,’ said Gaunt.

‘No, literally like a daemon.’

Rawne lay back.

‘I hear it got interesting,’ he said. ‘Hark was filling me in. Close to the wire here, and with Pasha’s mob too.’

‘As close as it got with you,’ said Gaunt.

‘Hark says the battlefleet annihilated some island. Took out Sek’s flagship. Is the fether dead now?’

‘That’s the presumption,’ Gaunt replied. ‘His gambits failed. Except with Mabbon. The Sekkite host collapsed almost overnight. Those that survive are fleeing the system. Urdesh is won. This is a victory.’

‘So that’s what it feels like,’ said Rawne.

He looked at Gaunt.

‘Is it true what I heard? Kolea?’

Gaunt nodded.

‘And the lad Dalin, and–’

‘We lost a lot. It’s hard to take in.’

‘It always is,’ said Rawne.

Beltayn appeared at the doorway.

‘My lord,’ he said.

‘I know, I know,’ said Gaunt, getting up, ‘I’m late.’

‘No, sir, you need to read this.’ Beltayn held out a signal sheet. ‘It was just received. I brought it to you at once.’

Gaunt took the sheet and read it. Then he held it up so Rawne could read it too.

‘Well,’ said Rawne. ‘There’s your confirmation. An unequivocal victory. What does this part mean, the bottom here? ‘Execution undertaken by unidentified Astra Militarum personnel’?’

A Munitorum aide directed him to the new Tanith billet as soon as he stepped off the landing field.

It was a fine set of chambers, just off the palace’s Circular Court. Sunlight at the windows, rows of clean cots, a scrubbed floor.

The place was empty. He walked in, in his clean but borrowed clothes, down the length of the first chamber, between the lines of cots, each one laundered and made-up with precision.

A man, the only person around, sat on a cot at the end of the long line, buttoning the jacket of his dress blacks. He looked up.

He barely reacted. Just a flicker of surprise. Mach Bonin rose to his feet, smoothing out the front of his dress uniform.

‘There you are,’ he said, as if Mkoll had only stepped outside for a smoke. ‘There’s a parade about to start. I’m late as it is.’

He reached down and slid an old kitbag out from under his cot. He dumped it on the next cot along.

‘I was holding this for you,’ Bonin said, matter-of-factly. ‘That cot’s free, so you can have that.’

Mkoll nodded. ‘We’ll need another bed,’ he said.

‘Yeah?’ asked Bonin.

Mkoll pointed down the hall. Brin Milo was standing in the doorway. He looked reluctant to step inside.

‘Where did you find him?’ Bonin asked.

‘Long story,’ said Mkoll.

A strong wind was blowing in across the High Parade behind the palace. A hard sun burned high in the sky. The pale skies of Eltath were clear of smoke for the first time in months.

Years, probably.

Ibram Gaunt, Lord Executor, walked out onto the field, his camo cloak billowing behind him. Drill officers barked, and the assembled companies snapped to attention. Brigades of Jovani, Helixid, Narmenian, Vitrian, Keyzon and a host of gleaming Urdeshi regiments. To one side, the small formation of Tanith, in perfect order. A row of field guns stood ready to fire the salute.

Gaunt stepped up onto the podium. An Imperial flag had been draped over the lectern. Overhead, huge standard banners swayed and cracked in the wind.

He nodded to the honour guard as he walked past them, and to the seniors of high command in attendance: Urienz, Blackwood, Cybon, Tzara and Grizmund, each one of them regal in their ceremonial uniforms.

Gaunt stepped to the lectern. He took out a sheaf of papers. He looked out at the assembled regiments, then down at his notes. He paused, and gestured to Ludd, who was leading the honour guard. Ludd hurried forwards.

‘My lord?’ Ludd whispered.

‘Take these, Ludd,’ Gaunt said. ‘I won’t need them.’

Ludd took the sheaf of papers, careful not to let any of them blow away in the wind.

‘Isn’t this your speech, sir?’ he asked nervously.

‘It’s someone’s speech,’ said Gaunt. ‘Not mine.’

Ludd stepped back into line, stuffing the papers into his coat pocket. The lords militant and high officers looked at each other, baffled.

‘Astra Militarum,’ said Gaunt, speaking into the vox mic. His words boomed out across the field. ‘Guardsmen. Lasmen. I have been asked to address you today. To deliver thanks for the struggles we have all endured together on Urdesh Forge World, and to celebrate our accomplishments here. Death is a part of those struggles, and that makes it hard to celebrate, even in a time of triumph. I wrote a speech. It was shit, so let’s draw a veil over that.’

A murmur rippled across the field.

‘It was just words,’ Gaunt went on. ‘They rang false to me, so I know for sure they’ll ring false to you too. I’ve heard enough generals speak in my time. It usually means nothing except that they like the sound of their own voices. You all know what you’ve done.’

He paused. He reached into his pocket and took out the signal paper Beltayn had handed to him. He began to unfold it.

‘A few minutes ago,’ Gaunt said into the vox, ‘I was passed a signal. Information that has just been received. I want to share the contents of that signal with you, because it will mean more to you than any glowing words I can muster.’

He cleared his throat, reading off the thin paper, which fluttered and flapped in his gloved hands.

‘Just before noon today, the Astra Militarum Intelligence Service confirmed a report received yesterday from an Aeronautica Imperialis patrol in the Southern Oceanic Zone. The report, which has been verified, declares that seven days ago, on an island called Orchidel, in the Faroppan archipelago, the Archenemy Anarch, known as Sek, was apprehended and terminated by Astra Militarum troops.’

He looked up. The wind blew across the field. The banners whipped and cracked.

‘I repeat,’ he said, ‘the identity is verified and the termination is confirmed. The Anarch is dead. Today, we have achieved a victory that has not been paralleled since Balhaut. Perhaps, the victory of this crusade. I feel that’s the only thing you need to hear from me today.’

He stepped back from the lectern. Despite the wind, he could hear that the applause and cheering had already begun to spread through the lines.

He turned, and beckoned Trooper Perday forward from the honour squad. She looked so nervous and afraid he thought she might faint. In her arms, she clutched the battered old set of Tanith pipes he’d given her three days before, and which she’d been practising on ever since, enough to master the basic skills. The boy was never coming back, but Gaunt felt that the original Tanith traditions ought to be respected.

‘Trooper Perday?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Ree Perday replied, swallowing hard.

‘Now you can play something,’ he said.