Ezekiel spoke, his voice low, "Three times Vicconius has eluded the Emperor's justice; once on Caliban; once on the plains of Daedalus prime; once in the hives of Necromunda. He cannot be allowed to escape us again, for his the foulest of treacheries. He and his brethren choose to remember their beginnings, for each bears the Order's heraldry. Yet they seek not reconciliation, but revenge for their expulsion." Head bowed, Lexus continued. "Not only does the heretic blaspheme against the Lion; he also threatens our very being by his continued presence. Only Cypher, Emperor curse him, may be ranked higher in the list of traitors that await redemption." The chaplain paused, his words fading into silence. Sammael broke their reverie. "You believe that the Fallen is here?" he asked. "I know it!" Lexus replied, his eyes hard as stone. Ezekiel leant forward. "The tarot points to the presence of the traitor on this world. He haunts my dreams. We stalk him through the lofty spires of the hive until he must stand and face us. He is powerless against our truth." Sammael nodded. "Then it is the will of the Lion. We must be cautious. Our actions must pass unnoticed. Brother Lexus it is to you that I give this task. I must lead the Company in pursuit of the remaining heathen. Requisition what you require." Lexus stood, turning to the final marine at the table. "Brother Uriel, I have need of your contingent." Uriel rose, his face bearing a grim smile. "The Deathwing await your command brother-chaplain Lexus." The chaplain turned back to Sammael, "They shall be enough Master." "There will be one other." The words were Ezekiel's. "He who as seen beyond his knowledge must accompany you." The chamber fell silent. "Master," Lexus said finally, "he has not been found worthy or capable of taking this burden." "His heart his pure," the librarian replied, his expression strangely distant. "His path lies with yours brother-chaplain. If I read the portents correctly, the time shall come when his star will eclipse us all." Lexus bowed his head in subservience. "It shall be done Master. This time Vicconius will be ours." Thick grey-white cloud passed the window of the spire; drops of condensation obscuring what little of the surface could be glimpsed beyond. Brother Vicconius of the Dark Angels turned away and retraced his steps back into the bowels of the hab complex that had been his home for the last month. The archaic structure of the hive creaked under the boots of his terminator armour as he made his way down the winding corridors. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a set of glass doors. His face was smooth, save for a single scar running below his left eye, his hair as black as the void. At first, he had recoiled from the realisation that he wasn't aging. Then he had marvelled at it. Now, centuries on, he did not even notice it. He passed through a heavily carpeted room into the chamber beyond, where a dozen marines awaited his return. Like him, they were clad to varying degrees in the black armour of their legion. Some wore only a single plate - a greave or perhaps a shoulder pad. It was testament to the age of warfare they had lived through. His lieutenant, Antonius, rose to greet him. "Did you see them?" he queried, holstering the bolt pistol he carried. Vicconius smiled, "Patience brother. If they come, you shall know in good time." "Luther damn them all," Antonius cursed, stalking away. Vicconius watched him go, his amusement making it to his face. The millennia hadn't dimmed his second-in-command's contempt for their betrayers. Still, he mused, neither had they dimmed his own. He merely channelled his hatred in a more constructive way. There would be time enough for bitterness, but first they must wait. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The sound of the door grating open jerked Amael back awake. He had lost all track of time since he had been taken. Confusion mixed with fear and betrayal had left him exhausted and weak. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth and he spat to remove it. Wearily, he lifted his eyes. Two robed Dark Angels stood motionless before him, their faces hidden by the shadows of their cowls. Amael tensed. As if responding to some unseen signal, the marines facing him suddenly moved forward. His arms were seized, his shackles removed and he was lifted clear of his restraints. In silence, he was propelled through his prison's door. Nausea washed over him and he stumbled, but his two companions seemed unaware or unmoved by his condition. Brusquely, Amael was hauled forward. A door opened and he looked up in time to find himself thrust through the opening into the gloom. The door closed behind him, his escorts remaining outside. His legs, weak from lack of use, failed him and he fell to his knees. His skin touched cold stone. Something further inside the room moved and he looked up sharply. Metres away, the Grandmaster of Librarians watched him. The sight of the marine's bionic eye set his heart pounding. Last time, Ezekiel had left him unconscious. He struggled to his feet. The librarian advanced until he stood within reach. Powerless to resist, Amael braced himself for the intrusion of the librarian's mind. It did not come. "Amael, son of the Lion," Ezekiel intoned, his voice reverberating around the chamber. "The Order has decreed that you are to be inducted into the inner circles of our brethren; to fight with the greatest warriors of the Imperium; to be Deathwing." An invisible hand forced Amael to his knees. Ezekiel continued. "It is my sacred duty to confer upon you this burden; this trust, in the name of the emperor and of the Lion." Amael felt Ezekiel's hand on the top of his head. The chamber seemed suddenly to brighten as he felt the librarian's thoughts mix with his own. Then the truth hit him in an unstoppable wave and he knew no more. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Brother Amael of the Deathwing stepped out onto the gantry. The hive rose above him, disappearing into the night. He doubted whether the top of the vast structure would even have been visible in daylight. He turned his gaze downwards. The sparkling lights of the Dark Angels' Firebase appeared through the haze miles below. Uriel stepped up beside him, the terminator dwarfing his power-armoured form. Since his elevation, Amael had adorned his armour in the colours of the Deathwing, marking his status until he could be trained in the use of tactical dreadnought armour. The smooth ceramite plates now gleamed white in the faint starlight, broken only by the gold of the Chapter symbol and chest eagle. They had moved into the hive that morning and, thus far, there had been no sign of the Fallen. The metal walkways were deserted. The inhabitants had fled or had been evacuated when the traitor legions had first arrived. Now the hive felt dead. Uriel, satisfied with the view, stepped back. Amael followed. The other Dark Angels were gathered inside, clustered around Lexus and brother-librarian Zechariah. Zechariah was knelt on the cold metal, his eyes half open, his hands resting on the guard of his force sword. The three members of Squad Uriel stood in respectful silence as the warrior mystic went about his work. Lexus, his cowl lowered, stared intently, waiting. Amael moved beside Ariel and waited. Minutes passed before Zechariah rose. The librarian turned to face Lexus. "He is here," he stated simply. Lexus nodded. "Do many surround him?" he queried. Zechariah shook his head. "I cannot be sure. Vicconius is yet unaware of our presence. We would be wise to mask our coming. Without knowledge, his numbers will count for nothing." Lexus lowered his eyes, "Whatever our precautions, we must be wary. Vicconius has eluded us before when we believed him snared." He raised his hood and lifted his Crozius Arcanum. "We must move now. Time is short." The chaplain strode off down the corridor, his boots sending out metal echoes into the night. Uriel signalled to his squad and followed, the librarian beside them. Amael brought up the rear. They moved swiftly and silently. The utilitarian surroundings of the hive began to change as they travelled steadily upwards, featureless sheets of metal becoming crudely patterned, graffiti becoming less evident. The denizens of this level of the hive could afford at least a comfortable life; at least they could before the forces of chaos had arrived. The structure was cloaked in shadow. Invisible creatures skittered in the darkness. The Dark Angels moved on. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * |
E TENEBRAE LUX By Jacob Stow |
FABLES OF THE UNFORGIVEN |
