"Smug fools," Haruil broke the silence. "May they burn in hell for our brothers' blood."
"And yet we need allies," Pharail continued. "We do not know what dangers await us here. Therefore I believe we must continue our path with the crusade."
"Never!" Attiy roared. "I'd sooner throw myself on my own sword than fight alongside those hypocrites who can't even think with their own brains! I've had enough!"
"In fairness, Guilliman's sons did not learn about the brothers who had fallen to heresy…"
"And what of it?" Haruil voiced what was on the minds of nearly the entire Circle. "To this day, when they find our brothers, they report to the Inquisition, and the persecution continues almost all the way to the Rock! On the other hand, we truly are trapped right now. The irony…"
"Perhaps Pharail is right," spoke up Ritorol, Captain of the Sixth Company. "We lost half the fleet in the Warp; it will be much harder to conduct the hunt. But we still have more than enough strength for independent action…"
"And still there are those who abstained," the Chief Librarian noted. "Mezarius, Gideon—we have not yet heard your word."
"Why do you need the opinion of the modest leader of the Ninth, Pharail?" The voice came from the far corner of the chamber.
"Has anyone ever told you that you chose the wrong Chapter? You'd have made an excellent Raven Guard!"
"With all due respect, 'acting' master of the Apothecarion, you will be the last person I consult about my destiny." Gideon stepped out of the shadows and approached the table. "I abstain. I do not yet have much experience in the duty that has fallen upon my shoulders along with the rank of captain, and I would rather trust you—my more experienced brothers."
"I will abstain as well. However, it is better to settle this matter now, and in that case, I propose—by the example of our founders—that we hold a vote, like the one that determined our Chapter's fate during the Schism," Mezarius said.
"A wise decision, brother," Kazimir replied with a half-smile.
The Master of the Hunt retrieved a cup and a pouch from a hollow in the table. From the pouch he handed each of them a white bead and a black one.
"If you place a white bead in the cup, you agree that we must support the crusade. If a black one—you agree that we should leave our allies and continue the path on our own. Nothing has changed."
Mezarius did not need to be reminded. He had already made his choice.
Pharail extinguished the light, and each in turn placed a bead into the cup. A minute later the light was restored, and all eyes turned to the center of the table.
Four black against three white.
"The decision is made. We will leave the crusade for the sake of our Hunt. In that case…" The vox-caster in Kazimir's helm hissed. "Master of the Hunt on the line. What happened?"
"Master, this is Admiral Kaur. I have an urgent report. We cannot raise the strike cruiser 'Dusk Blade.' It has drifted far from the main force after emergence from the Warp."
"My company is there!" Attiy exclaimed. "We must inform them of what has happened!"
"Our auspex also detected a ship moving away from the main fleet," the Admiral continued. "It is an Inquisition frigate—specifically Ordo Hereticus—heading toward the cruiser."
"Viola," Kazimir smirked. "Still can't let it go… Send escort ships to them. Have them transmit the order: destroy the frigate, and take the Inquisition representatives prisoner!"
"Understood!"
Kazimir cut the transmission and looked around the chamber.
"Well then, brothers—we have entered a dangerous game. A game that may cost us… everything. Even so, we must emerge from it as victors. So go to your subordinates."
Kazimir pulled his hood up, then began issuing orders:
"Attiy—prepare your men. You may have to board the 'Dusk Blade' together with Gideon. Pharail—have your Librarians continue to attempt contact with the lost ships," the Master of the Hunt finished. "This council is adjourned."
Bowing, the members of the Inner Circle began to disperse, leaving the chamber one after another. Mezarius headed toward the lieutenants who were waiting for him. With a gesture ordering them to follow, the Captain of the Third sank into thought:
"Can we do this?" he asked himself. "Will our Chapter withstand the abyss that hides unknown dangers?"
No one noticed the faceless servitor who, instead of repairing wiring, went after the Angels of Retribution's officers.
***
Erwin was already approaching the landing bay. His guard, drawn from the elite among the counter-boarding troops, had already taken the lasguns off safety. Years of training alongside the auxilia and Astartes neophytes had taught them to be ready for any situation even without the captain's reminder. And now, dressed in grey dress uniforms, they truly were the elite.
"My friends!" Erwin addressed his bodyguards before entering the bay. "Remember this moment—because it is possible that in a few hours, the captain of this humble tub, Erwin Macbeth, will be hauled before the Emperor's judgement!"
"What comedian bit you today, sir? You've been overly theatrical lately."
"Leon, my boy, the whole Macbeth line is tied to the theatre. I can't renounce my ancestors' blood, can I?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good lad. Now follow me—into the unknown!"
A light chuckle from the counter-boarders signaled that Erwin had once again managed to avert panic. To stand against the all-powerful Inquisition was a risk that, among mortals, only Khorne's fanatics would take willingly and without ulterior motives. And there was nothing wrong with having to don the mask of a jester, just as his parents had had to before him. It was a good way to lift his guard's spirits before yet another gamble.
Upon entering the bay, any man could feel something that, it would seem, cannot be found on Imperial Navy ships.
Space.
Vast expanses where servitors and mortal workers swarmed everywhere. Soldiers and enforcers from "internal security" watched discipline. Thunderhawks and Stormbirds stood in ranks; Xiphon interceptors; a multitude of Nephilim fighters and Dark Talons. All this was a distinctive feature of Space Marine landing bays.
"Look who's here," came a voice from behind the counter-boarders. "Another performance, is it?"
"Why, Commissar, it isn't a performance! No, no—only a prelude to the play…" The captain smiled sincerely and extended a hand toward the speaker. "Glad to see you alive, old man Green!"
"Likewise," the voice replied, less threatening now. "So what's the commotion on the ship? I know we're in an 'other' galaxy, but you wouldn't have asked me to come here in full dress just for that. By the Emperor, I haven't taken it out for twenty years."
"I'll be brief, my friend. Representatives of the Inquisition are inbound. The rest later."
"And what sort of mess have we gotten ourselves into this time?" the commissar asked, drawing a heavy bolt pistol from its holster.
"Curious myself!" The captain's optimism really was something to envy.
People were already gathering in the bay. Groups of sailors and counter-boarding teams stood off to the side, at first glance minding their own business and "absolutely" without weapons. Voidmen finished their work and hurried away, because they knew: if the ship's captain had come here, something terrible was about to happen, and it was better to be far away when that "something" occurred. A group of junior officers—apparently responsible for the bay—was already approaching with a report.
"Not now," Erwin snapped at them. "When it's over, I'll give you my attention."
Nodding, the senior of the group began issuing orders to his subordinates. He had already been informed WHO would be coming aboard. The pallor on his face reflected the full seriousness of the situation.
It had not been a minute before the Inquisition shuttle began its landing approach.
"No escort," the commissar began, as if speaking to himself. "These aren't Viola's people—they don't even fly ship to ship without protection."
"Then it will be easier to negotiate. Well then, our task is…"
"Commissar Green, you forgot to put on your vox-bead!" The voice of one of the counter-boarders, Gai, rang out unexpectedly.
To the commissar's credit, he looked stunned for only a second. Then he pulled the mentioned bead from his breast pocket and began fastening it.
"From now on, tell me if I forget something."
"Yes, sir!" The trooper looked proud to have helped.
The commissar continued to watch the shuttle's landing closely. Then he said quietly:
"Macbeth, he needs to be rewarded. Our plan could've gone to the Tyranids' tails if it weren't for that trooper."
"Understood," the captain replied just as quietly.
The shuttle touched down, and a delegation emerged. Under the protection of Scions, two representatives of the Inquisition approached the ship's masters: a swarthy, black-haired youth whose predatory green-eyed gaze examined every detail, and a tall man with an augmetic eye, stroking a spade-like beard with complete calm. On the bearded man's chest, Erwin immediately spotted the insignia.
"An Inquisitor?!" Erwin's thoughts raced like grox driven into a pen minutes before. "There shouldn't be a second Inquisitor here! Unless he's her 'warden'… Yes. That would be exactly like Viola—to send one of her colleagues to be torn apart by a potential enemy."
Two columns of Scions saluted in unison with their lasguns, then formed an honour guard.
"I, Varrek Kharakhan, greet you on behalf of the Ordo Hereticus and, in particular, my mentor, Viola den Shin!" The youth's sharp voice immediately displeased Erwin. "What is the state of the ship—and in particular, the fleet of your masters, the Astartes known as the 'Angels of Retribution'?"
"Our fleet translated in almost full strength; only a few escort vessels were lost. All our forces are at full readiness and able to aid the crusade in its future endeavours! The Blades of Courage Terminators and the Blades of Valour squadrons can advance at the spearhead of the crusade's attack, and our Master is ready to render the Inquisition any assistance it may require!"
"You…" The acolyte looked bewildered. "Are you lying?!"
"Not at all! All of that is official information received from the Admiral."
"Exactly right, my lord," a whisper sounded in the captain's head. "Stall for time. Lieutenant Marius has already been alerted."
"May I ask a question, acolyte?" the commissar decided not to stay out of the conversation.
"If the question contains nothing… hmm… inconvenient, then ask."
"Will you introduce your colleague? I want to understand whom we are dealing with."
"Yes, of course, this is…"
"No need. I will answer myself," the Inquisitor said good-naturedly. "I am, as you see, a humble Servant of the Golden Throne. My name is Tadeusz Ravenkov. I am Viola's colleague, and I am accompanying her young acolyte."
"It is an honour to meet you, esteemed Tadeusz. I have heard of your work in the Jericho Reach."
"I am flattered. However, let us return to our business."
"Forgive me for interrupting you, Inquisitor, but our plans have changed." The acolyte's expression became ceremonious. "We have intercepted your fleet's communications, in which it is said that you are leaving the crusade's forces. This is treason and desertion. If you do not wish to be complicit in your masters' heresy, surrender your ship to our forces, and by the word of a servant of the Ordo Hereticus, you will not be harmed."
"I am afraid I must refuse you. I swore an oath of loyalty to the Angels of Retribution, and I do not intend to break it."
Erwin's bodyguards and the Scions simultaneously trained their lasguns on each other. The ship's crew watching froze, awaiting the outcome.
"I address the forces of the Inquisition!" Suddenly a deafening, hoarse voice boomed from the speakers. "You are surrounded and are under the guns of the battle-brothers under my command. In the name of my Chapter, the Angels of Retribution, I ask you to lay down your weapons. We do not desire blood."
"Explain yourself, Captain Macbeth!" Varrek shrieked. "How dare you attack representatives of the Holy Inquisition?!"
"And why did you decide it was I who attacked?" Erwin asked with sincere surprise. "Our, as you put it, 'masters' act at their own discretion. My men aren't attacking you, are they?"
"I will destroy this ship full of hypocrites!" the acolyte continued, boiling with rage. "Torpedoes are ready, and even if I die, my ship will take all of you with it! And then…"
"By the God-Emperor, I have endured enough," Tadeusz muttered, then unexpectedly raised his voice. "This is MY ship, Acolyte Kharakhan! And I decide whom it will attack!"
At those words, the Inquisitor's storm troopers aimed their weapons at the colleagues opposite them.
"This is treachery?!" the acolyte cried.
"More like a wise decision in the circumstances."
"Do you understand what will happen to you? Even if you escape, Lady Viola will grind you into dust. Believe me—the tortures of those Dark Angels degenerates will seem mercy…"
"Boy, you forget that I have served the Throne for more than four hundred years. I would not have made a choice without understanding the risks."
During the exchange between Ordo Hereticus representatives, Erwin ran through countless options. All of them were suddenly rendered moot.
"Who is our enemy?" the vox rasped on Erwin's frequency. "No—who is our ally?"
"Red stripes," Green said as quietly as possible.
"Thank you."
The Scions on both sides kept their weapons trained, while the "Dusk Blade's" people had already taken cover behind improvised barricades made from crates of assorted junk.
"I repeat: lay down your weapons," the voice from the loudspeakers sounded again. "Otherwise my brothers will open fire to kill."
"Lies!" one of the Scions shouted. "We know there are no Astartes here! Lord Kharakhan, we must wipe out these worms before the Lion's mongrels—"
The trooper's body slammed to the floor with a crash. His lasgun skittered a good three meters away, and the sheath with its blade clinked plaintively. It might have seemed that he had simply been shoved or knocked down. It might have—if the absence of his head did not prove otherwise.
"Lay down your weapons. Inquisitor, that includes you."
The counter-boarders reacted faster than anyone, moving in to collect weapons and bind prisoners. Thanks to Ravenkov's help, the shuttle's crew surrendered without a fight. Erwin exhaled in relief: it was his first encounter with the Inquisition, and it had ended with only a single death.
A few minutes later, a group of Astartes entered the bay, led by a veteran sergeant. The silver pauldron gleaming on his left shoulder compelled even greater respect for the warrior—and also hinted at a past shrouded in darkness and secrecy.
"I thank you, acolyte," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "This is the first operation I've been able to finish with the help of a single patron. Unfortunately, it will most likely be the last."
"We will get to you," Varrek did not lose his insolence even in captivity. "Sooner or later we'll bring you into the light, heretics!"
"We shall see," the Space Marine did not prolong the exchange, and stepped up to the Inquisitor. "Glad to see you alive, esteemed Tadeusz."
"Likewise," Ravenkov replied. "So—what will happen to me?"
"Unclear for now. But I will soon find out. Won't I, Captain?"
"Yes, Sergeant Azdruil," Erwin said. "Ships from our fleet have arrived to assist and brought news. Soon that 'rabid bitch' won't be able to reach us."
***
The newly appointed captain of the "Guardian of Order" no longer harboured any illusions about his fate. He had lost.
He had lost when he failed to pay attention to the long "negotiations" aboard the Angels of Retribution's ship. He had lost when he chose not to attack the destroyers that arrived from the Lion's sons' main fleet. He had lost when he trusted Inquisitor Ravenkov and allowed the shuttle—escorted by Astartes Thunderhawks—to come aboard the frigate. He had lost when forces loyal to Lady Viola were attacked.
Though, most likely, he had lost even earlier—when he agreed to become Viola den Shin's agent.
Outside, the thunder of bolters and the hiss of lasguns could already be heard. Death was closing in on him, and he felt it like no one else.
"Captain Drak, we can get you through the vents," the commander of his bodyguards, faithful to his work, apparently wasted no time. "We can get you out before the enemy breaks in."
"No, Siegfried. There's no point in running. I would rather meet death with honour."
The gunfire ceased, and soon the door leading to the bridge was blasted open. Figures in grey-and-red armour stormed through the breach. Their jump packs looked absurd—but chain swords paired with bolt pistols inspired fear. They were the Emperor's Angels of Death.
"Surrender to us, and I swear by the Lion, you will not be harmed," a distorted voice rang out from one of the warriors.
The bodyguards raised their weapons toward the new foes, but Drak halted them with a gesture.
"No," he said. "You won't manage to take any of them with you to the foot of the Throne."
"Really now?" an excessively cheerful voice sounded from somewhere in the shadows. "So at least someone on this ship can think before shooting! I'm flattered."
A figure in Astartes armour appeared before the captain. The warrior approached and removed his helmet, revealing a pale face and long black hair. And eyes—terrible brown eyes, looking at him with unmistakable interest.
"Captain Orion Drak, of the Drak naval line," the Space Marine began slowly, "fifty-two years of age, but without grey hair or other signs of old age. Veteran of many campaigns, an experienced void wolf, and husband to a beautiful wife and father to two no less beautiful daughters. Have I missed anything?"
"Twins were recently born to me—August and Clara. Otherwise, that's all correct," the captain corrected him, entirely unruffled.
"Oh, forgive me. But I did forget one detail. An important detail." The Space Marine smiled predatorily, and fear rippled through the men standing nearby.
"And what would that be?" the captain raised an eyebrow.
"Working for 'Lady' Viola den Shin. Which you are doing right now."
"Wha—" Orion did not have time to react when one of his medals was torn off.
"The camera is almost invisible, but that doesn't mean it isn't there," the Astartes said thoughtfully. "I suppose your mistress has nothing left to watch."
With those words, he crushed the medal, then stepped on it with his sabaton. Then the warrior slowly approached the vox-caster and said:
"This is Gideon, Captain of the 9th Company. The ship is ours. Forces loyal to the enemy have been killed or taken prisoner. 'Karamazov in a skirt' has suffered defeat once again!"
Cheers from the storm troopers answered him.
***
Viola den Shin clicked her tongue in irritation as she watched the interference on the cogitator screen where the video feed had cut out. She had just had to trade away a few pawns so that, several moves later, she could checkmate the black king… Yet even understanding the necessity did not make the loss of her assets any less galling.
The Lady Inquisitor truly did treat her "adopted children" like "her children." In a world of paranoia, intrigue, and betrayal, those creatures were a reliable support. However, loyalty did not spare den Shin from the presence, among thousands of bright minds, of a small percentage of hopeless idiots. Such "personnel," however, were just as useful—for when needed, they could be easily "traded" at the most advantageous rate.
Of course, from the very beginning Viola had not believed in the success of that useful idiot Varrek (though his enthusiasm and determination to show himself in the best light before "mother" amused her). The point was that she could not refrain from marking her move before those degenerates of Lion El'Jonson. Her inaction would, beyond any doubt, have aroused perfectly reasonable suspicions; this way, let them celebrate their little victory and turn their eyes aside from the true threat.
In any case, the very fact that she had managed to get rid of Tadeusz—the annoying sack of bones, famed within the ranks of the Ordo Hereticus for his heightened sense of justice and often serving as a mentor to young acolytes—was already a great victory. The old curmudgeon, assigned to her as a nanny, had a rather strange, strained relationship with Viola.
On the one hand, he was the only one in the entire crusade who had known her back when she was a snot-nosed girl newly arrived at the Schola Progenium. He was the one who taught the future "star" of the Ordo Hereticus the fundamentals of fencing, the handling of weapons, and the methods of deduction that later helped the future witch-hunter—already as an acolyte in an Inquisitor's service. On the other hand, Ravenkov condemned what he considered her "overly radical" methods and opposed den Shin at the conclave that proved fateful for Viola…
Now his story was written to its end: a martyr in the Emperor's service, slain by vile heretics and deserters among the "Angels of Retribution." Just as had been intended from the start. Still, the information about the Lion's sons' desertion had pleasantly surprised the Inquisitor. Clearly, something more than simple betrayal was hidden here…
Perhaps it could serve as a key to the secret the scions of the First Legion had concealed from the Inquisition for millennia… In any case, even this "failure" she had staged placed important information into Viola's hands—and information was always the sharpest and most deadly weapon in the hands of the infamous witch-hunter.