The Warmaster

Twenty: Offensive

The main keep of the Urdeshic Palace loomed over Gaunt as he stepped out of the transport into the High Yard. The day was turning into what seemed to be a vague haze typical of Urdesh. The sky seemed flat and back-lit, as if bandaged with cloud, smog from the city’s plants and refineries, and fyceline smoke from the bombardments in Zarakppan. It made the keep seem like a black monster, improbably tall, a void designed to swallow up his life.

He’d brought Daur, Bonin and Beltayn with him. Beltayn, because he was Gaunt’s aide and adjutant, Bonin to represent the regiment’s scouting speciality, and Daur as a member of the officer cadre. Those were the nominal reasons, anyway. It was more because Gaunt felt comfortable having good soldiers at his side. The four Tempestus Scions followed them up the steps. They were good soldiers too. The best, depending on how you measured such things, but Gaunt didn’t know them, and they smacked too much of the zealous indoctrination of the Prefectus. They reminded him of his own early days, his training in the Commissariat Scholam. He might have become a Scion too, had he not shown brains.

Or perhaps if he had shown more ferocious, unquestioning fervour.

Bonin sniffed the air. There was a pungent, vegetable stink that was undoubtedly the sea, and a sharper reek of sulphur. He wrinkled his nose.

‘The volcanic vents leak sulphur,’ said Beltayn, noticing.

‘Volcanic?’ asked Daur.

‘The Great Hill,’ said Gaunt. ‘This entire precinct is built in the plug of the volcanic cone.’

‘Great,’ said Bonin.

‘Geothermal energy, Mach,’ said Gaunt. ‘That’s what drives the industry of this great world. That smell is the reason Urdesh is such a critical holding.’

‘Just adjusting to the idea we’re standing on a volcano, sir,’ said Bonin.

They entered the palatial atrium, Sancto and his Scions in match step behind them. The bare stone walls rose to soaring arches, lined with regimental flags that draped down their mast-like poles now they were sheltered from the wind. Four immense iron siege bombards sat on stone plinths, yawning at the doors. Officers stood in groups, talking in low voices. Messengers scurried to and fro. An aide informed Gaunt that Biota would attend him shortly, and that he should wait in the White Hall.

The White Hall was a banqueting room of considerable size, its walls whitewashed plaster. The room had been cleared of all furniture, except a long trestle table and a bench, and the emptiness made the place seem bigger.

The walls were covered in framed picts. Gaunt wandered over to examine some as he waited. They were regimental portraits: dour-faced men in stiff poses and stiffer formal uniforms, grouped in rows like sports teams. No one was smiling. Gaunt read the hand-scripted titles. ­Pragar, Urdesh Storm Troop, Jovani, Helixid, Narmenian, Keyzon, Vasko Shock, Ballantane, Volpone, Vitrian, Gelpoi… The history of the crusade in the form of the faces that had waged it.

Ban Daur joined him, and looked at the pictures thoughtfully.

‘I wonder…’ he began, ‘I wonder how many of the men in these pictures are still alive.’

Gaunt nodded.

‘Indeed, Ban,’ he replied. He had been wondering how many had been long dead before their images were unpacked in this room and hung on hooks.

Along the base of the wall were stacks of old frames that had been taken down at some point to make room for the Imperial display. The whitewash of the wall was marked with smoke lines and faded oblongs where other pictures had once hung and their replacements had not matched in size. Daur bent down and tipped through the unhung frames.

‘Look, sir,’ he said. Gaunt crouched next to him.

These pictures were much older, dusty. Some were paintings. Images of proud warbands, and gatherings of stern industrialists. Gaunt lifted a few to read the captions. Zarak Dynast Clan, Ghentethi Akarred Clan, Hoolum Lay-Technist, Hoolum First Army, Clan Gaelen Dynast…

‘I don’t recognise the names,’ said Daur, ‘or the uniforms.’

‘This is Urdesh’s history, Ban,’ said Gaunt. ‘Its long and troubled history.’

‘They aren’t all military,’ said Daur.

‘Urdesh has always been a place of industry, from its first settlement onwards,’ Gaunt replied. ‘The Mechanicus has been here from the start, exploiting the planet’s energy sources, building enclaves and forge manu­factoria. But Urdesh… It’s a geographical mosaic of archipelagoes and island chains.’

‘A mosaic?’ asked Daur, confused.

‘A patchwork,’ said Gaunt. ‘Balkanised, without central government. I mean, for the longest time, there was no central authority. Urdesh was riven by low-level conflicts as warlords and feudal dynasties vied with each other.’

‘Noble families held local power?’ asked Daur.

‘Right, they did, controlling city states, and squabbling for resources. Eventually, as Urdesh’s importance grew, the Mechanicus exerted its influence, forcibly unifying the world under its control. The dynast families and city states were brought into line or eliminated.’ Daur frowned.

‘So the Mechanicus made Urdesh?’ he asked.

‘They made it the pivotal world it is now,’ said Gaunt, ‘and are regarded as the planet’s owners and saviours.’

‘What happened to the nobility?’ asked Daur.

Gaunt shrugged.

‘The most powerful families retained power in partnership with the Tech Priesthood,’ he replied, ‘providing ready work forces and standing armies. The dynasts that survived unification prospered, building their enclaves around the Mechanicus hubs, and even forming brotherhoods.’

‘Brotherhoods? What does that mean?’

‘Unions, allied labour groups… even some technomystical orders as the Mechanicus shared and farmed out its lesser mysteries in return for loyal service. Some of the most able weaponshops on Urdesh are not Mechanicus, Ban. They’re dynastic lay-tech institutions, where the old warlord families of Urdesh machine weapons the Mechanicus has taught them to make.’

They rose from the pictures.

‘You’ve studied your briefing material, I see,’ smiled Daur.

‘I read up as best I could,’ said Gaunt. ‘To be honest, I attempted to read the precis background of the world, but I cast it aside. The history and fractured politics are more complex than the damn crusade.’

Daur chuckled. He’d had briefing packets like that come across his desk.

‘Besides, it’s pointless,’ said Gaunt.

‘Pointless?’ asked Daur.

‘Whatever Urdesh has been, Ban, that era is dying. The crusade will either fully liberate the world and centralise its control in a new Imperial order, or the world will become extinct. These pictures, relegated to the floor, are a footnote to a complex and involved chronicle that has ceased to be relevant.’

They turned as the door opened. Urienz strode in, acknowledging the smart salute of Gaunt’s Scions. He left his own entourage of aides and soldiers waiting in the hall. Gaunt stepped to meet him, Daur, Beltayn and Bonin hanging back.

‘Heard you were here, Gaunt,’ Urienz said.

They shook hands.

‘Just passing by,’ said Urienz. ‘I’m called to Zarakppan. It’s hotting up. The devils are pushing closer.’

‘A futile effort, surely?’ said Gaunt.

Urienz shrugged.

‘Anyway,’ he said, producing a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘The address of my tailor, as promised.’

Gaunt took the note and nodded his thanks.

Urienz took him by the elbow and stepped him away from the three Ghosts and the Scions.

‘A word,’ he said, quietly.

‘Of course.’

‘We know,’ he said.

‘Know?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Of the scheme Van Voytz and Cybon are cooking up.’

‘Who’s we?’ asked Gaunt.

Urienz shrugged.

‘Other senior staff. It’s an open secret. Some of us have been approached to lend our support.’

‘You turned the opportunity down?’

Urienz smiled.

‘There are many who do not share Cybon’s view. Many who remain loyal to Macaroth.’

‘I believe everyone is loyal to Macaroth,’ said Gaunt.

‘I’m advising you to think carefully, Gaunt,’ Urienz said. ‘I have no quarrel with you, and I can see why they’ve picked you as their man. Few would block you. That’s not the point. We’re on a knife edge. The last thing we need is a change of command. The disruption would be catastrophic.’

‘So this is a friendly word?’ asked Gaunt.

‘There are some, perhaps, who would be more hostile,’ Urienz admitted. ‘Just think about what I’m saying. The crusade doesn’t need a headshot like this. Not now.’

‘The proposal can be blocked,’ said Gaunt, ‘very simply. It’s not a conspiracy. It’s a political effort. If you know, then the warmaster must be aware too.’

‘Who knows what he’s thinking?’ said Urienz. ‘None of us are going to confront him with the matter. He’s been known to shoot the messenger, even if that messenger is bringing valuable intelligence. Look, if it goes forward, he might step down quietly. But he could as easily go to war with Cybon and his cronies. None of us want to step into that crossfire. And that’s where you’d be, Ibram. You’d be standing right in front of Cybon. The political bloodbath could put us back years. Throne, it could cripple us. Lose us the entire campaign.’

‘You mean Urdesh?’

‘I mean the damn crusade. Macaroth isn’t perfect, but he’s warmaster, and he’s the warmaster we’ve got right now. This is not a cart of fruit that needs to get upturned.’

‘If your concern is this great, sir,’ said Gaunt, ‘you should speak to the warmaster. Inform him of what’s afoot. Encourage discussion.’

‘I don’t need that flak, Gaunt. No one does. Turn Cybon down. Don’t go along with him. They don’t have another decent candidate to sponsor, none that the rest of staff would accept. You step aside, and they can’t move ahead. The whole affair dies off. Let it blow over, bide your time. Once Urdesh is done and finished with, once the heat is turned down and we’ve got time to breathe, more of us might be willing to consider the process favourably.’

‘Thank you for your candour,’ said Gaunt.

Urienz smiled.

‘We’re all on the same side, eh? I like you. I mean you no ill will. You’ve walked straight into this, and you’re barely up to speed. I thought a word to the wise was a good idea. And might save us all more grief than we can handle.’

Gaunt nodded. They shook hands again. Urienz turned to leave.

‘Check out that tailor of mine,’ he called over his shoulder as he strode out.

‘What was that about?’ asked Daur.

‘Appropriate clothing,’ said Gaunt.

‘What?’

‘About looking like the right person for the job,’ said Gaunt.

The door opened again. Chief Tactical Officer Biota entered.

‘Lord militant,’ he said. ‘Sorry for the delay. We must begin at once.’

Felyx looked up.

‘Why have we stopped?’ he asked.

Criid sat forwards in her seat and peered through the vehicle windows at the funeral transport ahead. Dalin said nothing. He’d been quiet since they’d set off, not just respectful, but as though he was brooding on something. Criid hadn’t wanted to ask him what in front of Felyx.

‘Traffic,’ Criid said. ‘At the next street junction. We’ll be under way again soon.’

‘On Verghast,’ said Felyx, ‘traffic parts for a cortege. Out of respect. The cortege does not stop.’

‘Well, this is Urdesh,’ said Criid.

‘A place where respect seems to be in pitifully short supply,’ murmured Felyx.

Criid looked at him. Gaunt’s son was almost cowering sullenly in the seat corner, gazing out of the side window at nothing. She decided not to press it.

One of the hired mourners, a stiff figure in black, had climbed out of the funeral transport and was stalking back to their vehicle.

‘Stay with Felyx,’ she said to Dalin and got out.

‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

‘The street is closed, ma’am,’ said the mourner. ‘There are Astra Militarum blockades here. Down as far as Kental Circle, I believe.’

‘Why?’ asked Criid. The man shook his head. She glanced at the street around her. It wasn’t busy, but the traffic was stationary. Pedestrians, most of them civilians, seemed to be hustling away, as if they had somewhere urgent to go.

The mourner checked his pocket chron.

‘The service is not for another seventeen minutes, ma’am,’ the mourner said. ‘We have plenty of time. We will find another route.’

‘Do that,’ said Criid.

‘I’m waiting for the explanation,’ said Viktor Hark.

Colonel Grae looked at him. The man was annoyed. The grey Chimera they were riding in was rumbling through the Hollerside district, and Hark had no idea of their destination.

‘There was no reason for you to accompany us, commissar,’ said Grae.

‘I think there’s every reason,’ said Hark. ‘You’ve taken a senior officer of my regiment into custody with no explanation. I’m not going to let you just march him off.’

He glanced back down the payload bay. Kolea was sitting on a fold-down seat near the rear hatch, flanked by security troops from the intelligence service. They hadn’t cuffed him, but they had taken his sidearm, his microbead and his straight silver.

‘The issue is sensitive,’ Grae said.

‘And I can probably help you with it, if you bring me up to speed,’ said Hark. ‘Colonel, this man is one of our finest officers. He’s a war hero. I’m not talking small stuff. He’s blessed by the Beati–’

‘I’m aware of his record,’ said Grae.

‘He’s in line for promotion to regimental command,’ said Hark. ‘Quite apart from Major Kolea’s fate, I am, as you might expect, keenly concerned for the welfare and morale of my regiment.’

Grae looked him in the eye. Hark was disturbed by the trouble he read in the man’s face.

‘Major Kolea’s significance and record are precisely why I’ve taken him in,’ he said. ‘Matters have arisen. The ordos have taken an unhealthy interest in him.’

‘Unhealthy for whom?’ asked Hark.

‘For Major Kolea.’

‘This is the Inquisitor Laksheema I’ve heard about?’

Grae nodded.

‘The ordos wants Kolea. I tried to deflect, but intelligence is very much the junior partner in this,’ said Grae. ‘I have instructions to protect Kolea as an asset–’

‘Instructions from where?’ asked Hark.

‘Staff level,’ said Grae. ‘High staff level. We need him shielded from the ordos. Laksheema could cause us some major and unnecessary set-backs if she gains custody.’

‘I thought we were all playing nicely together,’ said Hark.

‘Come now, Commissar Hark,’ said Grae, ‘you are a man of experience. With the best will in the world, and despite aspiring to the same high ideals, the departments of the Imperium often grind against each other.’

‘This is territorial?’

‘Let’s just say that the stringent application of Inquisitorial interest will slow down the ambitions of the Astra Militarum.’

Hark frowned.

‘You’ve taken him into custody to prevent the ordos doing it?’

‘I was obliged to agree with Laksheema that Kolea’s detention was urgently required,’ said Grae. ‘I couldn’t disagree. But I could get there first.’

‘He’s in detention, just as she wanted…’

‘But not her detention.’

‘This is protective.’

‘It will take the ordos a while to work out where Kolea is, and longer to process the paperwork to have him transferred to their keeping. That buys us time. In the long run, they’ll get him. The Inquisition always gets what it wants. But we can delay that inevitability.’

Hark exhaled heavily in wonder.

‘Tell me about these issues,’ he said.

Chief Tactical Officer Biota brought them to the war room. The first thing that struck Gaunt was the temperature. Several hundred cogitators, arranged over five storeys, generated considerable heat. Despite the size of the chamber, the air was swampy. Immense air ducts and extractor vents had been fitted into the chamber ceiling, and hung down like the pipes of a vast temple organ over the main floor. They chugged constantly, and the breeze they created flapped the corners of papers stacked on desks.

Entry was on the first floor, a broad gallery that extended around the chamber’s sides and overlooked the busy main hall. Three more galleries were ranged above the first, and Gaunt could see they were all teaming with cogitator stations and personnel. At the centre of the main floor below lay a titanic strategium display, the size of a banqueting table, its surface flickering with holographic data and three-dimensional geographic relief. Nineteen vertical hololith plates were suspended around the main table, projecting specific Urdeshi theatres and the near-space blockade. Adepts with holo-poles leant across the strategium table to sweep data around, or used the poles like fishing rods to move captured data packets from one plate to another. There was a constant murmur of voices.

Biota led them up the ironwork stairs to the second gallery, which was packed with high-gain voxcaster units. The trunking spilled across the floor was as dense as jungle creepers, and the Munitorum had laid down flakboard walkways between the stations to prevent tripping and tangling. Message runners darted past, carrying urgent despatches from one command department to another.

‘This way,’ said Biota. They climbed to the third gallery. The war room had once been the great hall of the keep, Gaunt presumed. The towering windows were stained glass, and cast a ruddy gloom across the scene. Each desk, cogitator and work station was lit by its own lumen globe or angle lamp.

The third level gallery was divided into sections for the main division chiefs, each with its own smaller strategium system and cogitator staff. Each zone was privacy screened with a faint, shimmering force field. Gaunt passed one where three Urdeshi marshals were arguing across a table, then another where Bulledin was briefing Grizmund and a quartet of armour chieftains.

Van Voytz and Cybon were waiting in the third. Colonel Kazader and about twenty officers and tactical specialists were with them.

Biota wanded the privacy veil open to admit Gaunt.

‘Your men can wait here,’ he said.

‘The Scions can,’ said Gaunt. ‘These Ghosts are my staff, so they’ll be coming with me.’

‘I really don’t think–’ Biota began.

‘Bram! Get in here!’ Van Voytz called jovially.

‘Follow me, please,’ Gaunt said to Daur and the others.

Van Voytz got up and clapped Gaunt on the arm paternally. Cybon, sullen, sat at the strategium.

‘Good morning to you, my lord militant,’ Van Voytz said. He was in ‘good humour’ mood, but Gaunt had known the lord general’s moods long enough to catch the tension.

‘We were scheduled for this afternoon, sir,’ said Gaunt.

‘Things have moved up,’ said Cybon, just a steel hiss.

‘I doubt very much you haven’t absorbed the briefing data already, Bram,’ said Van Voytz. ‘You always were a quick study. Diligent.’

‘I have, as it happens,’ said Gaunt. ‘I would have appreciated longer. It’s considerable and complex.’

‘Well, we’ll have the room to begin with,’ said Van Voytz, nodding to Kazader and looking significantly at Gaunt’s men.

‘I’m going to have to brief my men anyway,’ said Gaunt. ‘This is Captain Daur, G Company lead, one of my seniors. Beltayn is my adjutant. Bonin is scout company, so he represents the Tanith specialty. It’ll save time if they hear it first hand. I believe time is of the essence.’

Bonin, Beltayn and Daur had all drawn to salute the lord generals. Van Voytz glanced at Cybon, got a curt nod, then accepted the salute.

‘Stand easy,’ he said. ‘Good to meet you.’

‘They’re here to take notes, are they?’ asked Cybon.

‘They are, sir,’ said Gaunt.

Cybon looked at Bonin. Daur and Beltayn had both brought out data-slates. Bonin was standing with his hands behind his back.

‘That man doesn’t have a pen,’ said Cybon.

‘He doesn’t need one,’ said Gaunt.

‘Immediate update, as of this morning,’ said Van Voytz. Biota flipped the table view to a projection of a southern hemispheric area.

‘The hot spot is Ghereppan,’ said Van Voytz. ‘All eyes on that. Major conflict reported in the over-nights. We think Sek is concentrating a new effort there. He may be in that zone in person.’

‘That’s where the Saint is?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Leading the main southern efforts,’ said Biota.

‘Also of note, however–’ Van Voytz started to say.

‘She’s a target,’ Gaunt interrupted.

‘What?’

‘Is that deliberate or accidental?’

‘She’s leading the forces there,’ said Van Voytz.

‘Nominally,’ Cybon added.

‘But she’s bait,’ said Gaunt. ‘Is that by design?’

‘What are you saying, Bram?’ asked Van Voytz.

‘You put our highest value asset on the ground under Sek’s nose,’ said Gaunt. ‘He’s biting. Was that deliberate?’

Van Voytz glanced at Cybon.

‘I’m asking,’ said Gaunt, ‘if this is part of a projected policy by the warmaster. To bait the Archenemy.’

‘She’s a senior commander,’ said Cybon.

Gaunt pointed to the table.

‘Of course. But she is also a symbolic asset. If the Ghereppan action was commanded by you, sir, or Urienz, or me, do you suppose the enemy disposition would be the same? You kill one of us, you kill a senior officer. You kill the Saint, then you win an immense psychological victory.’

Van Voytz cleared his throat.

‘There is fury here,’ said Gaunt, running his finger along the lines of the three-dimensional modelling. ‘An urgent, careless onrush. Look, they clearly haven’t secured these highways, or either of these refinery areas. This vapour mill has been bypassed. Those are all strategic wins. The Archenemy is effectively ignoring them in its effort to reach Ghereppan and engage. Sek sees the Saint as a vital target, more vital than any of the forge assets on this world. Of course he does. So see how he reacts? His tactics are hasty, eager and over-stretching. They are not typical of his usual, careful methodology.’

‘I have… I have already noted to you,’ said Biota, ‘that there is a madness in the Anarch’s battlefield craft. No logic. This has been going on for a while.’

‘You have, sir,’ replied Gaunt, ‘and no wonder. There is a logic, it’s just not the logic we would apply. I’ll ask again, is the Saint being used as bait to draw the Anarch into an unwise over-stretch?’

‘We are aware that she is a tempting prospect,’ said Van Voytz.

‘Really?’ asked Gaunt. ‘A tempting prospect? I’ve heard neither of you confirm that her deployment is a deliberate tactic of provocation. I’d be reassured if you said so. It’s clinical, and risky, but it’s ruthlessly effective. What troubles me is that staff is unaware of the effect.’

‘Once again, sir,’ said Kazader indignantly, ‘you speak with an insulting tone that–’

‘Shut up,’ Gaunt told him. He took the wand from Biota and adjusted the table view to a greater scale.

‘The Archenemy of man is an unholy monster,’ said Gaunt, ‘but we’d be fools to underestimate his intelligence. And idiots to presume his motives are the same as our own. See? In the Ghereppan zone, Sek’s entire approach has shifted. By placing the Saint there, we have altered the enemy’s plans. He’s not interested in Urdesh. He’s interested in the Saint.’

‘We did…’ Cybon began. ‘That is to say, the warmaster did reckon on a shift of tactics. The Saint isn’t bait. More… a goad. You have pointed out that Sek’s mode of warfare has altered. We have begun to push him into rash structural positioning and unsupported advance.’

‘Thank you, sir, for confirming my appraisal at last,’ said Gaunt. ‘Yes, it is working… but it must be capitalised on. Sek could be broken at Ghereppan. You’ve made him clumsy, and weakened his core. But if this ruse fails, he takes the Saint and we suffer a critical loss.’

‘It will be capitalised on, sir,’ snapped Cybon.

‘It can be capitalised on by the commander on the ground,’ said Gaunt. ‘There are huge opportunities to throttle or even crush the enemy forces. Of course, the commander on the ground needs be aware of the situation in order to capitalise on it. Is she?’

There was silence.

‘Does the Saint know she’s your goad, Lord Cybon?’ asked Gaunt. ‘If she doesn’t, for feth’s sake… She won’t appreciate the enemy’s weakness and won’t be able to exploit it.’

‘She has senior officers,’ said Van Voytz. ‘Advisors…’

‘Is staff here advising her too?’ asked Gaunt. ‘Or are we just assuming? Bait needs to know that it’s bait if the trap is going to work.’

Cybon rose to his feet.

‘That crest, Gaunt, has made you impudent,’ he said. ‘You lecture us about tactics?’

‘I think these are Macaroth’s tactics,’ said Gaunt. ‘I think he sees it very clearly. He has assigned staff to implement them, perhaps without fully explaining his thinking. Staff is executing a plan without fully appreciating why it’s a plan. This, I think, is an example of the lack of interchange you complained to me about.’

‘Now listen, Gaunt,’ said Van Voytz, his face flushed.

‘I want to win this war, general,’ said Gaunt. ‘I doubt I’m the only person in this room who thinks that’s the foremost priority. Before we implement the warmaster’s orders, we need to comprehend his ideas.’

‘Are you done?’ asked Cybon.

‘I’ve barely started,’ said Gaunt. ‘It’s not just the Saint. You think she’s the only bait here on Urdesh? Chief Tactical Officer Biota related to me the “madness” of Sek’s operations on this world. Both sides should be striving to acquire, as intact as possible, the considerable resources of this forge world. After all, that’s why the reconquest wasn’t given to the hammer-fist of the fleet. Sek’s schemes have, for months, seemed to be disjointed, as if the monster has lost his way, descended into feral nonsense. But what we’re seeing today at Ghereppan can be enlarged planet-wide. From the outset, Sek has been less interested in Urdesh than in the value we place upon it. We are holding back so that Urdesh remains intact. He is counting on that. He is counting on the fact that we value this planet as a commodity to be preserved. I believe that he is so anxious to prove his worth… or so anxious to repudiate his reputation in the eyes of the Archon… that the possession of Urdesh is secondary to him. He has set the trap. He has laid the bait for us. That bait is Urdesh and Sek himself. We are so eager to take this world whole and end him. So eager, we have brought the Saint. The Saint, the warmaster, and a significant section of high command staff.’

Gaunt looked at them.

‘Sek doesn’t want Urdesh,’ he said. ‘He wants to decapitate the crusade.’

The late morning had brought heavy rain in across the bay and Eltath. It was dismal. Baskevyl, Domor and Fazekiel had sheltered for two hours under the colonnades of the ordo stronghold, listening to the rain patter off the yard’s paving slabs. The last time Baskevyl had tried the porter’s office, a surly man had emerged after repeated knocks and told him that transport would be arranged, and that because of a ­scarcity of drivers, they would have to keep waiting.

‘We’ve been waiting for a while,’ Baskevyl had replied, biting back the urge to shout at the man.

The porter had shrugged as if to say, ‘I know, what can you do, eh?’

This time, Fazekiel had gone to the door and hammered hard. There was no response. She tried the door, and found it was locked. So was the door to the main atrium.

‘Have they just left us out here?’ asked Domor, knuckling rain drops off his nose.

‘This is ridiculous,’ said Baskevyl.

‘No, it’s typical,’ said Fazekiel. ‘They made us wait when we got here, they’re making us wait again.’

‘Why?’ asked Domor.

‘It’s a game,’ said Fazekiel.

‘What’s the point of the game?’ Domor asked.

‘To show us who’s in charge,’ she said.

Baskevyl buttoned up his jacket.

‘How far is it to the billet?’ he asked.

Domor shrugged.

‘Seven, eight miles?’ he said.

‘We could have walked home by now,’ said Baskevyl. He started off towards the gate and the street beyond.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Fazekiel.

‘Walking it,’ said Baskevyl.

Apart from the rain, Gaelen quarter was quiet. Baskevyl hadn’t paid much attention on the drive in, but now he was conscious of how empty and bleak the streets surrounding the ordos stronghold were. It wasn’t derelict. The area was full of mercantile offices, commercial buildings and counting houses, and they were all well kept and in good repair. But they were all shut, closed, locked and barred. Shutters covered their windows, and cages were padlocked across their doors. There was no sign of life. Baskevyl wasn’t sure if it was simply a non-business day, a holy day, perhaps, or if the premises were permanently closed. They all looked like they’d been locked up the night before, never to be opened again.

‘We just walk,’ said Baskevyl.

‘You know the way?’ asked Fazekiel. ‘We don’t know this city.’

Baskevyl grinned at her, and jerked a thumb towards the despondent Domor.

‘Shoggy’s Tanith, Luna,’ he said. ‘He’s not going to get lost.’

Baskevyl looked at Domor.

‘You’re not, are you?’

Domor shook his head.

‘This way,’ he said, taking the lead. ‘Top of the hill, then to the left. I don’t remember the route they brought us, but I can find Low Keen from here.’

They trudged up the hill in the rain, soaked.

‘There’s a good omen,’ remarked Fazekiel.

Someone had daubed the words the saint stands with us on the side of a nearby townhouse.

‘If she stands with us,’ said Domor, ‘she’s soaked to her underwear too.’

The hill was steep. At the top, on a junction, they were able to look back and see the grey smudge of the bay beyond the sloping rooftops. The weather was coming in off the sea, a grey haze. They could see the shadows of heavy rain slanting from even heavier cloud.

Baskevyl heard a sound and looked up. An aircraft. Its engine noise was reflected off the low cloud, and he had to search to spot the actual object. It was a dot, cutting low and east across the city. After a moment, two more specks followed it, slicing fast across the clouds.

Domor frowned.

‘That’s not one of ours,’ he said quietly.

Somewhere, far away to the north, an anti-air battery opened up, a distant rapid thumping. Several more joined in.

‘Oh, feth,’ said Domor.

A vehicle was approaching along the hillside street. A cargo truck. Baskevyl stepped off the pavement and tried to flag it down. It rushed past, oblivious, hissing up standing water in a spray.

The distant rattle of gunfire got louder, like firecrackers in a neighbouring street.

‘We need to get back quickly,’ said Baskevyl.

Another vehicle was approaching, a Munitorum transport rumbling through the rain with its headlamps on.

‘Leave this to me,’ said Fazekiel.

She stepped into the road and stood in its path, one hand raised.

The transport ground to a halt in front of her. The driver peered out, regarding the commissar with some trepidation.

‘We need a ride,’ Fazekiel told him. ‘To the Low Keen quarter.’

‘Ma’am, I’m ordered to go to Signal Point,’ said the driver nervously.

‘Let me rephrase that,’ said Fazekiel. ‘Officio Prefectus. I am commandeering this vehicle, now.’

As they scrambled into the cab of the transport, Baskevyl heard more aircraft. He turned and looked up.

Planes were approaching from the south west, emerging from the heavy cloud. Hundreds of aircraft, grumbling in wide, heavy formations.

They weren’t Imperial.

‘Drive!’ Baskevyl ordered, slamming the cab door.

The rain had put a dent in the high spirits raised by Blenner’s proposed feast. Smoke and steam continued to billow out of the cookhouses, but the work had slowed down. People had drifted off, and only a few of the women and the camp cooks had stayed to keep things warm and stop them burning. The band had packed up.

‘They are coming here,’ said Yoncy.

Elodie had been playing catch with her in one of the billet hallways. Rain had driven the children indoors, and they were getting fractious. Yoncy had at least stopped complaining about her hair. Elodie was glad of that. She was pretty sure she didn’t have lice, but every time the child mentioned it, she wanted to scratch.

‘Who are, Yonce?’ she asked.

Yoncy frowned at her.

‘They are full up with woe,’ she said.

There was noise from the yard. Elodie went out to see, leading Yoncy by the hand.

The funeral transports had returned.

‘They’re back soon,’ Elodie said to Rawne.

‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Rawne.

Criid got out of the transport and hurried across to Rawne. Elodie could see that Felyx was still in the back of the vehicle. Dalin was sitting with him. Then she noticed that the coffin was still in the back of the transport.

‘What’s going on?’ Criid asked Rawne.

‘About to ask you the same thing,’ he said.

‘The roads are shut,’ said Criid. ‘We got to the templum, and that was locked. The attendant said the service was postponed.’

Rawne made a face.

‘Felyx is upset,’ said Criid. ‘We had to bring the coffin back with us.’

‘Of course he is,’ said Zwiel, appearing at her side. ‘That won’t do at all.’

‘He’s actually angry more than upset,’ said Criid, glancing back at the transports. They could see Felyx yelling and gesturing at the sympathetic Dalin, though they couldn’t hear what he was saying.

‘Angry with everything and everyone,’ said Criid. ‘Angry at the whole fething galaxy.’

‘The dead must rest,’ said Zwiel, tutting, ‘they really must.’

‘Noted, father,’ said Rawne.

Across the yard, a Ghost shouted and pointed up into the rain at the lowering sky. Formations of aircraft were passing over them. There were packs of them, hundreds. The shrill scream of their chugging engines was distinctive. The formations seemed to slide across the grey sky. They were heading for the Great Hill.

‘Secondary order!’ Rawne yelled. ‘Get up, get up, get up! All companies! Secondary order now!’

Around him, the Ghosts scattered fast, heading for their bunk rooms and the arsenal.

‘Retinue into shelter!’ Rawne shouted. ‘Elam! Meryn! Get the retinue settled as best you can.’

Ludd and Blenner ran up. Blenner looked flushed and out of breath.

‘See to discipline in the camp, Blenner,’ said Rawne.

‘Yes, but–’

‘See to discipline in the damn camp now!’ Rawne snapped.

‘Yes, major.’

Rawne looked at Ludd.

‘Secondary order, and ready to move,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That includes crew-served.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Do we have any transport?’

‘A few of the cargo-eights,’ said Ludd.

‘Load them up. Munition support, plus heavier weapons. Everyone else can walk.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ludd. ‘Walk to where, sir?’

‘Well, it’s not happening here, is it?’ said Rawne. ‘Unless you want to take pot-shots at those planes? Something’s coming in, and we need to be ready to meet it.’

Ludd nodded.

‘Not dig in here, major?’ asked Zwiel.

‘Do you want the fight to be here, ayatani?’ asked Rawne. ‘Here where the retinue is?’

‘No, I do not.’

‘If we’re fighting here, it’ll be a very bad sign,’ said Rawne. ‘It’ll mean the enemy has taken everything south of here, and that’s most of the city. So if we’re fighting here, it means we’re neck-deep in shit.’

Oysten, Rawne’s adjutant, pushed through the milling crowds of troopers, and ran to him. She held out a slip of paper.

‘This from staff, sir,’ she said.

Rawne took it and read it.

notice of high alert ++ all stations in city zone to secondary immediate ++ await primary orders

‘No fething shit,’ he said, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside. He glanced at the flocks of aircraft droning overhead.

‘Like I needed brass to tell me that.’

Felyx got out of the transport and looked at the sky, mouth open.

‘By the Throne, what is this?’

‘Come on,’ said Dalin. ‘We have to move.’

Since accidentally overhearing Kolea and Hark, Dalin had been lost in worry about the prospect of Felyx’s secret coming out. But circumstances had changed so badly, that hardly seemed an issue. Felyx Chass’ stupid secret seemed insignificant now the city was under attack.

‘Will you come on?’ he urged.

‘But Maddalena–’

‘Move, now,’ said Dalin, grabbing Felyx by the arm.

Elodie scooped Yoncy up in her arms and hurried with the rest of the retinue into the billet houses. Elam’s company had opened up the basements and were sandbagging the windows of the lower storeys. They were urgently ushering the non-coms inside.

‘Downstairs,’ a trooper said to Elodie. ‘Quick now.’

‘I said they were coming, didn’t I?’ Yoncy whispered in Elodie’s ear as they bumped down the cellar steps.

Elodie looked at her.

‘The enemy? You meant the enemy?’

Yoncy nodded.

‘They are always really close,’ she said.

The wall batteries of the Urdeshic Palace began to fire, echoing the sustained barrage from batteries around the skirts of the high city. The storm clouds lit up with specks and flurries of light. The palace itself groaned and trembled. Deep-core generators kicked into life, and with a cough and pop of pressure drop, the fortress’ massive void shield system engaged, encasing the entire summit of the Great Hill in a globe of phosphorescent green energy against the incoming raid. The air stank of ozone.

In the war room, contained pandemonium reigned.

‘What are we looking at?’ demanded Cybon.

‘The situation in Zarakppan has deteriorated in the last hour,’ said Biota, scanning the data that flooded the strategium. ‘Faster than antici­pated. Much faster.’

‘Urienz is on the line there, isn’t he?’ asked Van Voytz.

‘He’s en route, sir,’ said Biota. ‘But the line has already broken in three places. The enemy is progressing into the refinery district.’

‘Damn it!’ Van Voytz snapped.

‘But that’s just a feint,’ said Gaunt.

‘It is,’ agreed Biota. ‘It’s drawn our main power. Their main assault is coming from the south west, out of the margins of the Northern Dynastic Claves. A principal force, predominately infantry with fast armour support. Plus air cover, of course. Fast strike, slash and burn. They’re using the suburbs here on the south shore of the bay.’

The stained-glass windows of the war room rattled in their frames, shaken by the over-pressure of the massive void shield outside. Gaunt thought he could hear the first crisp stings of munitions ­spattering off the outside of the shield. On the hololithic display, the fuzzy patch of imaging that indicated the enemy aircraft formations was merging with the upper contours of the Great Hill.

‘We need to restructure,’ said Van Voytz, studying the chart and sliding the code-bars of brigade indicators around as if he were laying out playing cards for solitaire. ‘We need to pull garrison elements down from the north. Where’s Blackwood?’

‘Why do we need Blackwood?’ asked Gaunt.

‘Blackwood has principal command of the Eltath position,’ said Cybon. ‘This is his watch.’

‘This needs to go to the warmaster,’ said Gaunt.

‘The warmaster is indisposed,’ said Biota. ‘Marshal Blackwood has command precedence here.’

Gaunt looked around. The chamber was bustling with staff, but there was no sign of Blackwood.

‘For Throne’s sake,’ Gaunt said to Cybon. ‘Interim orders at least. Start the fething restructure! Blackwood can take over when he arrives.’

Van Voytz looked at Cybon. Cybon sighed, and walked to the balcony rail. He amped up the volume of his throat-vox.

‘Attention!’ he boomed. ‘I am assuming command until relieved by Marshal Blackwood! All data to my station! Await orders!’

He looked back at the table. Van Voytz and Biota were already pushing data blocks across the hololith map, suggesting deployment structures for the reserve garrisons stationed inside the city.

‘Good,’ Cybon nodded, considering their suggestions. ‘Confirm these routings and send them to the main table. Get them despatched now! And make sure the damn Munitorum knows where and what it needs to support.’

‘Yes, sir!’ said Biota.

‘Let’s look at the rest of the list,’ said Cybon. ‘Anything we can reposition in the western corner there?’

Van Voytz pointed at the city map.

‘That’s your mob, Bram,’ he said.

Gaunt nodded.

‘Any requests?’

‘I think they could make the south bayside in under an hour. Perhaps mount a support of the Tulkar Batteries?’

Van Voytz nodded.

‘Yes, and we push this armour in at their left flank. Cybon?’

‘Do it,’ Cybon growled, busy with the deployment authorisations for another eighteen regiments.

‘We have retinue with us, sir,’ Gaunt said to Van Voytz. ‘Permission to have them transported inside the palace precinct?’

‘Granted,’ said Van Voytz immediately, then paused. He gestured to the chamber’s high windows, lit by the eerie green glow outside. ‘But nothing’s getting in or out with the shield up.’

‘Once this raid is driven off,’ said Cybon, looking up from the chart, ‘we’ll have to drop the voids. Power conservation.’

Van Voytz nodded, and looked back at Gaunt.

‘Get them ready to move at our notice,’ he said. ‘They can come in once the raid has cleared.’

Gaunt nodded a thank you. He beckoned to his waiting adjutant.

‘Beltayn?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Get me a link to the regiment. Call me when it’s up,’ said Gaunt.

‘Yes, sir.’

Beltayn hurried off to the vox-centre. Gaunt took Van Voytz aside.

‘The warmaster must be on top of this,’ he said quietly. ‘Now.’

‘We can manage.’

‘This is his fight! On his doorstep!’

‘He’s busy with the big picture, Bram. This isn’t the only warzone on Urdesh.’

‘Someone should go and–’

‘His area is off limits to all,’ said Van Voytz. ‘I’m sure he’s been made aware of the situation. He will intervene if he thinks it’s necessary. It’s staff’s job to keep on top of this.’

Gaunt looked at him, unconvinced.

‘Dammit, Bram,’ said Van Voytz, ‘this is exactly what I’ve been talking about. Macaroth’s detached from everything. Everything. It’s all grand ­theory to him. He probably hasn’t even noticed we’re voids up.’

‘I can’t believe the warmaster is so divorced from reality,’ said Gaunt.

Van Voytz’s voice dropped to a whisper.

‘Throne’s sake, Bram. We told you. We told you plain. He’s not fit. Not any more. He’s not the safe hands we need driving this. Not this fight, not the theatre, not the damn crusade. He’s been holed up in his quarters for months, sending out strategic orders by runner. I don’t think he’s been out of the east wing in weeks.’

He put his hand on Gaunt’s shoulder and turned him away from the officers around the busy strategium table.

‘That’s why we need to settle this,’ he whispered. ‘And we need to do it now. In the next few hours.’

Gaunt looked at him, hard-faced.

‘You want to move against him now? Replace him? In the middle of this?’

‘If not now, when, Bram? When? The inner circle is ready to act. The declamation of confidence is prepared. All the formalities are in place. With your cooperation, we were hoping to act this week anyway. This crisis is forcing our hand. The Archenemy has shifted tactics, a hard turn. Throne knows what’s coming in the next few hours, here or on the Southern Front.’

‘At least wait until we’ve pushed back this assault,’ said Gaunt.

‘The enemy is hitting Eltath, Bram. Two days ago, that was an unthinkable scenario. This offensive demonstrates the failure of command. It’s primary evidence to support our demands.’

‘Barthol, I refuse to accept that the best time to enforce change at the very upper level of command is during an enemy assault. Macaroth’s hands need to be on the reins–’

‘But they’re not, Gaunt, they’re not! He’s not engaged with the ­matter at hand. He’s letting it happen. The warmaster’s hands need to be on the reins, all right. But not Macaroth’s.’

Van Voytz looked him in the eye.

‘We need theatre command, and we need it now,’ he said. ‘Not tonight, not tomorrow. We need it now. If we leave it a day or two, Throne knows what we’ll be facing across Urdesh. Throne knows how the game will have changed. I’m not going to wait to let a catastrophic defeat prove that we need new leadership.’

‘Barthol, you know the rest of staff knows all about it?’

Van Voytz made a careless shrug.

‘It’s been plain to me,’ said Gaunt. ‘Staff knows what your inner ­circle is planning, and significant numbers of them oppose the idea. Even those sympathetic to the idea don’t think this is the right time to consider it. Those against you would block it.’

‘We have the numbers,’ Van Voytz sneered. ‘It will be a procedural formality. Look at what’s going on, Gaunt. This is a shambles. After this, staff will thank us for it… If we get fresh blood to haul us out of this offensive with renewed vigour. Come on. Think about it. We should be thanking the Anarch for giving us the push we need. It trounces all counter-arguments.’

Gaunt took a deep breath. The windows were still quivering in their frames, and the sound of munition strikes and airbursts was now very distinct.

‘The inner circle,’ he said. ‘It’s not well liked…’

Van Voytz raised his eyebrows.

‘What’s the matter, Bram? Afraid you’re going to be tarnished by association? Afraid you’ll catch lice lying down with the bad boys?’

‘I am concerned with the calibre of some of your co-conspirators,’­ said Gaunt.

‘Oh! “Co-conspirators” now, is it?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Gaunt growled. ‘Lugo is a paper general. He’s never been better than barely competent–’

‘Screw Lugo,’ replied Van Voytz. ‘He’s a rat’s arse. But we need him, because he’s connected. He has strong links with the Ecclesiarchy in this sector and Khulan Sector. We need the approval of the Adeptus Ministorum and he brings that. A move like this slips down a damn sight easier with the church backing us. They’ll bring over the sector lord and the Imperial court. We need him, so we tolerate him.’

Gaunt didn’t reply.

‘As soon as Blackwood gets here, we’re calling the circle together,’ said Van Voytz. ‘And then we’re pushing the button. An hour or two. Now, are you with us?’

‘Give me two hours, sir,’ said Gaunt.

‘What? Why?’

‘I need to issue direct instructions to the Ghosts. I owe them that much. I’m not leaving their feet in the fire like this.’

‘All right, but after that?’

‘I’ll give you my answer in two hours.’

Van Voytz stared at him for a moment, as if trying to read his thoughts in his face. Gaunt’s eyes, their impenetrable blue a result of Van Voytz’s own command calls, made that impossible.

‘Two hours, then,’ Van Voytz said.

Gaunt snapped a salute. Van Voytz was already turning back to the strategium table where Cybon was yelling instruction to his juniors.

Gaunt looked over at Daur and Bonin.

‘With me,’ he said.

Beltayn was in the vox-centre on the gallery below. He’d taken command of one of the high-gain voxcaster units, ordering the vox-men aside so he could operate it himself.

‘Linked to Tanith First, sir,’ he reported, handing a headset to Gaunt.

Gaunt took off his cap and put the headset on.

‘This is Gaunt.’

‘Reading you, sir,’ came the reply. He recognised the voice of Oysten, Rawne’s new adjutant.

‘I need Kolea or Hark,’ said Gaunt.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Oysten’s crackling reply came back. ‘Neither one is here.’

‘How can they…? Never mind. Baskevyl, then. And quickly.’

‘Sir, Major Baskevyl is not on-site either.’

‘Feth me, Oysten! What’s going on?’

‘One moment, sir.’

There was a muffled thump from the other end of the connection, then a new voice came on.

‘Gaunt?’

‘Rawne? What the hell is happening?’

‘The explanation will take some time, and it will annoy you,’ said Rawne. ‘Do you really want to hear it right now?’

‘No. Dammit, I was about to promote Kolea to brevet colonel to get the regiment together.’

‘Well, Gol’s not present, and I don’t think a brevet promotion is going to do him much good right now.’

‘All right. Rawne, looks like you got the job after all.’

Silence, a crackle.

‘You still there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are we going to have that argument again?’

‘I don’t know. Shall we?’

‘Does this seem like a good time, Rawne?’ Gaunt snapped. ‘Are you the senior officer present or not?’

‘I am.’

‘Then you’re in charge. I can’t get there. The palace is locked down. What’s the situation?’

‘We’re at secondary order, and ready to move. I was anticipating marching orders.’

‘Yes? Well, here they come. You’re moving south, to the Tulkar Batteries. The enemy is advancing from the south and south west. Garrison forces are moving in to cover the line. How fast can you get there?’

‘Hold on… Checking the charts… Fifty minutes if we leave now.’

‘Make it fast. Rapid transfer, and expect to hit the ground running when you arrive. The enemy may already be there. Orders are to hold the ­batteries and hold that line. I’ll get any supplementary data I can find relayed via the war room. Munitions?’

‘Adequate, but we’ll need more before long.’

‘Munitorum is aware. I think you may get some armour support in another ninety minutes, but you’ll probably be on station first.’

‘What about the retinue?’

‘Permission’s been granted to transfer all non-coms to the palace precinct. Transport will be despatched, but it will be a while. The retinue will have to remain at the billet site until the raid’s over and the shield’s down. Suggest you–’

‘Leave a couple of companies to protect them, got it,’ said Rawne.

‘Good. Get on with it. Rapid deploy. Do you need a brevet rank?’

‘No, I fething don’t.’

‘You’ve got it anyway, Colonel Rawne. You are primary order as of now. Get moving. The Emperor protects.’

‘Understood.’

‘Are my orders clear and comprehended, colonel?’

‘They are. They are… my lord militant.’

‘Straight silver, Rawne. I’ll make contact again as soon as I can.’

‘Understood. Rawne out.’

The connection dropped. Gaunt handed the headset back to Beltayn.

‘Colonel Rawne?’ asked Daur.

‘Seems so,’ said Gaunt.

‘What happens now, sir?’ asked Beltayn.

‘We have to pay a visit,’ said Gaunt.

‘In the middle of this?’ asked Daur.

‘It’s important,’ said Gaunt. He looked at Bonin.

‘Think you can lead me to the east wing of this place?’ he asked.