The Flight of the Eisenstein (7 page)

The girl mirrored Kendel's gesture. 'My mistress wishes you and your company to accept the commendation and gratitude of the Sisters of Silence. Your names will be presented to the Sigillite in recognition of your service to Terra.'

You honour us,' Garro replied. 'If I might ask, what was the fate of your comrade, the Null Maiden who was unhooded in the fighting?'

The novice nodded. 'Ah, Sister Thessaly, yes. Her injuries were serious, but she will recover. Our medicae aboard the
Aeria Gloris
will heal her in due course. I understand your Brother Voyen saved her life.'

'Aeria Gloris!
repeated Garro. 'I do not know of that vessel. Is it part of our flotilla?'

A smile crossed Kendel's lips and she signed to the novice. 'No, captain. It is part of mine. See for yourself.' The woman pointed out through the glass dome and Garro followed her direction.

A piece of the void moved slowly across the prow of
Endurance,
passing between the bow of the warship and the distant glow of the Iotan sun. Whereas conventional vessels of the Imperial fleets ran with pennants and signal lamps to illuminate the lengths of their hulls, this new arrival, this
Aeria Gloris,
came in darkness, arriving out of the interstellar deeps as an ocean predator might slip to the surface of a night time sea.

Garro had never laid eyes on a Black Ship before. These were the mothercraft of the Silent Sisterhood, carrying them back and forth across the galactic disc on the Emperor's witch hunting missions. It was hard to make out anything more than the most basic details of the ship's design. Framed against the solar glow of Iota Horologii, the battle cruiser was at least a match in size for the Death Guard capital ship
Indomitable Will.
It lacked the traditional plough blade prow of most Imperial vessels, ending instead in a blunt bow. A single, knife-edge sail hung below the stern and on it was an aquila cut from shimmering volcanic glass. Where
Endurance
and the ships of the Astartes flotilla were swords against the enemies of Terra,
Aeria Gloris
was a hammer of witches.

'Impressive,' rumbled Garro. There was little else he could say. He found himself wondering what it would be like to wander the decks of the vessel, at once attracted and repelled by the idea of what secrets the craft must hide.

Sister Amendera bowed again and nodded to her novice. We take our leave of you, honoured captain,' said the girl. 'We are to make space for Luna by day's end, and the warp grows turbulent.'

'Safe journey, sisters,' he offered, unable to tear his gaze from the dark starship.

Kaleb guided the cart across the length of the armoury chamber, taking care to stay to the outer walkway around die edges of the long hall. His master's bolter lay across the trolley, the weapon's usually flawless finish marred by lines of damage from the engagement on the jorgall world-ship. As Garro's housecarl, it was Kaleb's duty to see the gun to the arming servitors and ensure that the weapon was returned to its full glory as quickly as possible. He intended not to disappoint his captain.

He passed knots of Death Guard as they debriefed and disarmed, men from Temeter's company in animated conversation about a diorny moment during the boarding of a xenos destroyer, and Astartes of Typhon's First in bellicose humour. Across the chamber he spied Hakur talking with Decius, as the younger man relayed a moment from the battle with an enthusiasm that the dour veteran clearly did not share.

The men of the XIV Legion were not given to raucous celebration in their victories - such displays, Kaleb had heard it said, were more in the character of the Space Wolves or the World Eaters – but they did, in their own fashion, salute their successes and give honour to those who fell along the way.

The Death Guard cultivated an image that other Legions were only too quick to accept: that they were brutal, ruthless and hard-hearted, but the reality had more shades to it than that. That these Astartes rarely made sport of their warfare was true, but they were not so bleak and stern as some would have believed.

Compared to the stories Kaleb had heard of stoic and dispassionate Legions like the Ultramarines or the Imperial Fists, the Death Guard could almost be considered willful and disorderly.

Rounding a stanchion, the housecarl's train of thought stalled at the sound of harsh laughter from a figure before him. He hesitated. Commander Grulgor stood in his path, speaking in muted, amused tones to an Astartes from his Second Company. The two men clasped gauntlets in a firm, serious handshake and in spite of the dimness of the ill-lit walkway Kaleb was still able to make out the shape of a disc shaped brass token held in Grulgor's fingers before he passed it into the other man's grip.

He understood immediately that he had intruded on a private moment, something only Astartes should share, something that a mere serf like him was not to be privy to, but there was nowhere Kaleb could hide, and if he turned around, the clatter of the cart's wheels would reveal him. In spite of himself, he coughed. It was a very small sound, but it brought with it a sudden silence as the commander broke off and noticed the housecarl for the first time.

Kaleb was looking directly at the decking, and did not see the expression of complete contempt Grulgor turned upon him

'Garro's little helot,' said the commander. 'Are you listening where you should not?' He took a step towards the housecarl and against his will, Kaleb shrank back. Grulgor's voice took on the tone of a teacher lecturing a student, making a lesson of him. 'Do you know what this is, Brother Mokyr?'

The other Astartes examined Kaleb coldly. 'It's not a servitor, commander, not enough steel and pistons for that. It resembles a man.'

Grulgor shook his head. 'No, not a man, but a
housecarl!
The emphasis he put on the title was scornful. 'A sad bit of trivia, a dusty practice from the ancient days' The commander spread his hands. 'Look on, Mokyr. Look at a failure.'

Kaleb found his voice. 'Lord, if it pleases you, I have duties to perform-'

He was ignored. 'Before our primarch brought new, strong blood to our Legion, there were many rituals and habits that knotted around the Astartes. Most have been cut away' Grulgor's face soured. 'Some still remain, thanks to the dogged adherence of men who should know better.'

Mokyr nodded. 'Captain Garro.'

'Yes, Garro.' Grulgor was dismissive. 'He allows sentiment to cloud his judgment. Oh, he's a fine warrior, I will give him that, but our brother, Nathaniel, is old in his ways, too bound by his Terran roots' The Astartes leaned closer to Kaleb, his voice dropping. 'Or, am I incorrect in my judgment? Perhaps Garro keeps you around him, not out of some misplaced sense of tradition, but as a reminder? A living example of what it means to fail the Legion?'

'Please,' said the serf, his knuckles white around the handles of the cart.

'I do not understand,' said Mokyr, genuinely confounded. 'How is this helot a failure?'

'Ah,' Grulgor said, looking away,
but
for a turn of fate, this wastrel might have walked among the Legiones Astartes. He could have stood where you do now, brother, wearing the white, bearing arms for the Imperium. Our friend here was once an aspirant to the XIV Legion, as were we all. Only he fell short of greatness during the trials of acceptance, damned by his own weakness.' The commander tapped his chin thoughtfully.

Tell me, serf, where did your will break? Crossing the black plains? Was it in the tunnel of the venoms?'

Kaleb's voice was a whisper. The thorn garden, lord.' The hateful old memory emerged, fresh and undimmed despite the span of years since the event. The housecarl winced as he recalled the stabbing, poisonous barbs on his bare skin, his blood running in streaks all across his body. He remembered the pain and worse, the shame as his legs turned to water beneath him. He remembered falling into the thick, drab mud, lying there, weeping, knowing that he had lost forever the chance to become a Death Guard.

The thorn garden, of course.' Grulgor tapped his fingers on his vambrace. 'So many have bled out their last in that ordeal. You did well to survive that far.'

Mokyr raised an eyebrow. 'Sir, do you mean to say that this... man was an aspirant? But those who fail the trials perish!'

'Most do,' corrected the commander. 'Most of them die of the wounds they suffer or the poisons they cannot resist during the seven days of trial, but there are some few who fail but live on still, and even they will largely choose the Emperor's Peace over a return in dishonour to their clans.' He gave Kaleb a cool stare. 'But not all. Some lack the strength of will even for that honour.' Grulgor looked back at Mokyr and sniffed archly. 'Some Legions make use of their throwbacks, but it is not the Death Guard way. Still, Garro chose to invoke an aged right, to save this wretch from the pit of his own inadequacy. He rescued him.' Grulgor snorted. 'How noble.'

Kaleb found a spark of defiance. 'It is my privilege to serve,' he said.

'Is it?' growled the Astartes. "You dare to parade your own deficiencies around us, the chosen men of

Mortarion? You are an insult. You ape us, hang upon the tails of our cloaks while we fight for the future of our species, polishing guns and pretending you are worthy to be in our company?' He pressed Kaleb's cart towards the wall. You skulk in the shadows. You are Garro's petty spy. You are
nothing]'
Grulgor's annoyance flared in his eyes. 'If I were captain of the First, the pointless ritual that granted your existence would be ended in a second.'

'So, then,' said another voice, 'is the commander of the Second dissatisfied with his honoured role?'

'Apothecary Voyen.' Grulgor greeted the new arrival with a wary nod. 'Sadly there are many things that I find myself dissatisfied with.' He stepped away from the trembling housecarl.

'Life is always a challenge in that regard,' Voyen said with forced lightness, throwing Kaleb a sideways look.

'Indeed,' said the commander. 'Is there something you wanted, brother?'

'Only an explanation as to why you saw fit to waylay my captain's equerry during the course of his duties. The battle-captain will be returning shortly and he will wish to know why his orders have not been carried out.'

Kaleb clearly saw a nerve twitch in Grulgor's jaw in reaction to the temerity of Voyen's reply, and for a moment he expected the senior Astartes to bark out an angry retort to the junior Apothecary, but then the instant was gone as some moment of understanding he was not a party to passed between them.

With exaggerated care, Grulgor stepped out of Kaleb's path. The helot may go about his business,' he said, and with that, the commander dismissed them both and strode away with Mokyr at his side.

Kaleb watched them go and once again saw the glitter of the strange brass token as the Astartes tucked the coin-like object into an ammunition pouch on his belt.

He sucked in a shaky breath and bowed to Voyen. Thank you, lord. I must confess, I do not understand why the commander detests me so.'

Voyen walked with him as the housecarl continued on his way. 'Ignatius Gralgor hates everything with equal measure, Kaleb. You shouldn't take it personally.'

'And yet, the things he says... sometimes those thoughts are mine as well.'

'Really? Answer me this, then. Do you think that Captain Garro, the leader of the Seventh Great Company, considers you an insult? Would a man of honour like him even contemplate such a thing?'

Kaleb shook his head.

Voyen placed his huge hand on the housecarl's shoulder. 'You will never be one of us, that is true, but you still serve the Legion despite that.'

'But Grulgor was right,' Kaleb mumbled. At times, I
am
a spy. I go about the ship, invisible in plain sight, and I see and hear. I keep my lord captain conversant with the mood of the Legion.'

The Apothecary's expression remained neutral. A good commander should always be well informed. This is not plotting and scheming of which we speak. It is merely the report of talk and temper. You should feel no conflict in this.'

They arrived at the arsenal dais where the armament-servitors were waiting, and the housecarl presented them with the captain's bolter. Kaleb felt a churn of tension coming loose inside him, the need to speak pressing on his lips. Voyen seemed to sense it too, and guided him to an isolated corner near a viewport.

'It is more than that. I have seen things' Kaleb's words were hushed and secretive. 'Sometimes in quarters of the ships, where the crewmen do not often venture. Hooded gatherings, lord. Clandestine meetings of what can only be your battle-brothers'

Voyen was very still. You speak of the lodges, yes?'

Kaleb was taken aback to hear the Apothecary talk openly to him of such things. The quiet orders of men inside the Legiones Astartes were not something that was common knowledge to the outside world, and certainly they were things that a man such as Kaleb should not have been aware of. 'I have heard that name whispered.' The housecarl rubbed his hands together. The palms were sweaty. Something in the back of his mind urged him to say no more, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to get the words out, to be free of them. 'Just now, I saw the commander give a medallion to Brother Mokyr. I have seen one before, among the personal effects of the late Sergeant Raphim after his death at the Carinea Moons' Kaleb licked his lips. A brass disc embossed with the skull and star of our Legion, lord.'

'And what do you think it is?'

A badge, sir? A token of membership for these surreptitious groupings?'

The Astartes gave him a level, unmoving stare. You are afraid that these meetings might threaten the Death Guard's unity, is that it? That sedition may be at their core?'

'How could they not?' hissed Kaleb. 'Secrecy is the enemy of truth. Truth is what the Emperor and his warriors stand for! If men must gather in shadows-' He broke off, blinking.

Voyen managed a small smile. 'Kaleb, you respect Captain Garro. We all comprehend the might of our primarch. Do you think such great men would stand idly by and let subversion take root in their midst?' The Apothecary put his hand on the housecarl's shoulder again and Kaleb felt the smallest amount of pressure there. He became aware of the mass and strength of the warrior's ceramite glove, enveloping his flesh and bone. 'What you have seen in sideways glances and overheard rumours is nothing that should concern you, and it is certainly not a matter with which to distract the battle-captain. Trust me when I tell you this.'