Auric Gods

Chapter Eleven City of Vorganthian, Kobor, within Terra’s light

The air scythed past, tugging against his hood and pulling it away from his face. Meroved could not suppress a grin as he revelled in the sheer speed of the Harrower.

The tunnel sped by in a blur, lit by sweeping shafts of light from the Harrower’s forward-mounted lamps. Meroved’s mnemic abilities kept him on the route described on the map, though the deep and disused conduits through Vorganthian’s forgotten underbelly were labyrinthine. After a few miles, the turns came quickly and sharply. He could appreciate why the dead ex-Guardsman he had left back in the tunnel had needed a map, though Meroved needed only to glance at it once. What he could not fathom was why the dead man had been wearing a null-collar. As he piled on more speed, he considered the collar might relate to the supposed suicides Gedd had stumbled upon and wondered where all this might lead.

Eventually, Meroved came almost to the terminus of his journey as the tunnel network ended in a large subterranean excavation. Ditching the jetbike at the edge of a massive pit and killing its noisy engine, Meroved began to climb down a shallow slope that led into further darkness.

After about sixty feet, the slope started to level out and Meroved saw the watery light of sodium lamps strung up via cabling bolted to a low, natural ceiling. He found several large packing crates and empty promethium drums. Whoever had been down here had been in the process of moving location. Excavation tools lay abandoned, propped up against stacks of pallets. The place looked deserted. Even if the ex-Guardsman had not intended to return, he had probably been here at some point.

‘Why did you need to keep a watch?’ Meroved murmured. ‘What are your cohorts so wary of?’

The answers were not forthcoming.

Delving further Meroved found solid-slug casings, and the air still carried the faintest smell of cordite. A Custodian’s senses were greatly attuned, even more so than the Adeptus Astartes’.

His eyes narrowed. ‘You were interrupted.’

A fight had taken place here, a fierce one judging by the damage to the walls. Some of the crates had been used as cover. A few had been split in half. Others were shattered into pieces. It would take immense strength to strike such a blow. Drag marks and old bloodstains suggested that the casualties had been removed, and that the fight had taken place some time ago, possibly as long as several days.

As he went deeper the tunnels grew older, much older than the disused transit hub. Natural caverns replaced the man-made chambers, jutting with stalactites and strange bioluminescent fungus. Meroved doubted this place existed on any map. It was ancient. The sodium lamps had long since gone and Meroved pressed on into half-darkness until he caught the faintest glow of grey light. He followed it, moving slowly and cautiously, unsheathing the vibro-sword with Firebrand in his other hand, until the ceiling gave way to a grey gloaming sky.

Snow swept in from above through a natural cleft in the rock that led back to the outside world. It occurred to Meroved he must be nearing the northern district of the city, only a few miles from where he had sent Gedd.

The light was weak but limned a large cavern in an eerie pearlescent glow, sparkling where it touched cataracts trickling through fissures in the rock. The light also marked a body lying on its back in the middle of the cavern, its armour edged in silver. Spilled blood shimmered, glittering with frost. The sight of it caused Meroved’s breath to catch in his throat.

He rushed to the body and upon reaching it sank to his knees, his head heavy with grief. A light dusting of snow had fallen like a funeral veil. The thin white patina could not obscure the lustre of the armour. It shone gold. The specific manner of death was unclear, but the armour had been rent in several places. A slash carved open one side of the helm, revealing part of the face.

‘Kazamende…’ The name came out in a ghostly pall of expelled breath.

A guardian spear had fallen from the dead warrior’s grasp, and as Meroved reached for it he paused, remembering his oath. His outstretched fingers coiled into a fist.

‘How did I not see this?’

Kazamende had died here, presumably from his wounds. He may have died days ago. He wore the royal purple panoply of the Aquilan Shields.

‘What were you doing here, Kazamende?’ Meroved’s voice came out in a breath-starved rasp. ‘Who were you sent to protect?’

Deciding he could learn nothing more from the body, Meroved got to his feet. Taking off his cloak, he gently laid it across Kazamende.

‘Blood of the Throne…’ he whispered, unwilling to accept the truth of his eyes.

One of the Ten Thousand had been killed. No easy feat, and the Aquilan Shields were known for their skill in combat. They were also sworn to lay down their lives to protect an individual identified by the Emperor’s will. Meroved saw no other bodies. Either the man or woman Kazamende had been sent to protect had escaped or they had been taken. Alive or dead, it was impossible to determine.

A flicker of light caught Meroved’s attention and he looked up to see a hololithic figure resolve into being. It was a man, old but with the false appearance of youth. He looked strong and there was a slight militaristic air about his appearance, though the fatigues he wore were beneath the dark red robes of a missionary preacher. Flak armour bulked out his body. As he drew back his hood, he revealed rings on every finger, each shaped like the mark under the eye of the ex-Guardsman Meroved had left back in the tunnels – a candle with a solitary flame.

His hair was cut in the style of the Astra Militarum, shorn close though without a regimental insignia. He did have a tattoo just above the bridge of his nose, of a letter ‘I’ within an eye.

‘Who are you?’ demanded Meroved. He gestured to Kazamende’s body. ‘Did you have a part in this?’

‘I’ll presume you are pointing to your dead comrade,’ said the man. ‘Through the hololith I can only see you. The narrow beam focus, you understand.’ His voice was cultured, urbane and bereft of the usual condescension typical of his calling. ‘He is your comrade, yes?’

‘Answer me now,’ said Meroved, in no mood for games. ‘There is no place you can hide from me. Nowhere that will be safe for you or those responsible.’

The man nodded. ‘I thought so,’ he said, as if he hadn’t heard Meroved’s threat. ‘I am Ylax Orn, not that my name will mean anything to you. I regret what happened to your comrade. I am the Emperor’s servant in this but he was unwilling to let me conduct my work.’

Meroved scowled in disbelief. ‘You slay one of the Ten Thousand and claim you serve the Throne?’

‘I did and I do. You do not understand yet. You will. But I wanted to be sure, to see you with my own eyes…’ He shrugged, and his casual manner turned Meroved’s hands to fists, though he knew his rage was impotent against a hololithic projection. ‘Well… You can appreciate what I mean.’

‘You will die by my hand, heretic,’ Meroved promised.

‘Not until my work is done, and then I would gladly surrender my neck to your sword.’

‘What work? Does it involve the Vexen Cage? Do not use it. I warn you now.’

‘I fear if I told you, you would try to find a way to stop me and I cannot have that. I have the relic, that much at least I am willing to divulge. I am its guardian. It is His will that I have it. I will be completely honest – I hope that by telling you this you will let me continue without unnecessary impediment. It is essential to the Awakening, but you will see.’ He frowned then, seeing the look on Meroved’s face. ‘Although… perhaps you won’t.’

Meroved tensed, his eyes narrowing as he searched the cavern for any threat, but he could find no sign.

‘I needed to know if there were more of you,’ said Orn. ‘So I left Reinhar as bait. I assume he is dead.’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Meroved.

‘Do not despair,’ said Orn as the very air seemed to thicken and sound became muted. ‘Your suffering serves a great purpose.’

It was as if Meroved had crossed an invisible boundary line into a different realm of existence. He knew this feeling. It had happened to him before, during the battle at the Lion’s Gate. He could detect the pulling of the veil, like overstretched rubber brought to breaking point before slowly returning to its resting elasticity. Something had crossed over.

The hololith faded. Behind it stood another figure, and this one was very real.