Fallen Angels Page 7

  How could Luther not have known?

  The ghostly pressure of the warp vanished, like a snuffed candle. Zahariel paused, took a deep breath, and tried to regain his focus once more.

  It seemed inconceivable to him that Luther had missed the signs for so long. He was justly famous for his intellect, one of the very few on Caliban who could converse with Jonson on an almost equal footing. Zahariel knew that Luther monitored the reports of the Administratum, the local militia and the constabulary as a matter of course – it was part of his duties as the master of Caliban. If the threat was obvious to him, it should have been glaringly so to a man like Luther. The implications were disturbing, to say the least.

  Zahariel wished there was someone he could talk to about his concerns. More than once he’d been tempted to bring the matter up to Brother Israfael, but the Librarian’s stern and aloof demeanour had persuaded him against it. The only other member of the Legion he felt he could talk to had been Master Remiel, and now he was gone.

  The young Librarian cast his eyes skyward and found himself wishing, once again, that Nemiel had been sent home as well. Zahariel thought his cousin could be overly cynical at times, but right now he needed a pragmatic perspective more than anything else. As much as he wanted to believe that Luther was still a noble and virtuous knight at heart, Zahariel had a sacred duty to his Legion, his primarch, and above all, the Emperor himself. If there was corruption within the ranks he was obligated to do something about it, regardless of who might be involved, but he had to be absolutely certain before he took action. Morale among the brothers was tenuous enough as it was. Once again, Zahariel breathed deeply and tried to focus once more on his meditations. He closed his eyes, summoning up the mental rotes that Israfael had taught him, if only to drive away the worries that gnawed at his heart. He ruthlessly pushed conscious thought aside and emptied his mind.

  The ghostly wind gusted once more, surprising him with its strength. Invisible and insubstantial, it nevertheless pushed roughly against him. The force of it rocked him back on his heels; without thinking, he opened his eyes and found himself staring into the face of the storm.

  A pale blue glow suffused the courtyard, similar to moonlight but roiling like oil. Wild currents swirled and eddied around him, outlined in shades of black and grey; if he focused on them, they took on patterns that plucked uncomfortably at his mind. A faint, discordant moaning filled his head. The intensity of the vision startled the young Librarian for an instant. His concentration faltered – yet the sensations grew stronger.

  Dark, hooded figures stirred at the edges of his sight, and then a voice, alien and yet chillingly familiar, echoed in his mind. Remember your oath to us.

  Zahariel let out a startled cry and spun on his heel, seeking the source of the voice. Memories of his quest for the Calibanite Lion, more than fifty years past, flooded back to him in an instant. He remembered wandering into a remote part of the forest more haunted and evil than he had ever known before, and the strange, hooded creatures who had confronted him there.

  His hearts pounding wildly, Zahariel searched the courtyard’s shadows for the Watchers in the Dark. The blue glow and the angry wind vanished from one blink to the next, and when his vision cleared, he found himself staring across the courtyard at the pensive figure of Luther. The master of Caliban was studying Zahariel intently.

  ‘Is something wrong brother?’ Luther said quietly. His voice was full of concern, but the knight’s expression was inscrutable.

  Zahariel mastered himself quickly, controlling the flow of adrenaline and lowering his heart rate with a few controlled breaths. ‘Brother-Librarian Israfael would reprimand me for letting someone catch me unawares while I was meditating,’ he said. It shocked him how quickly the lie came to his lips.

  Silence fell between the two warriors. Luther studied Zahariel for a long moment, then smiled ruefully. ‘We’ve all got a lot on our minds these days, haven’t we?’

  ‘More so than ever before,’ Zahariel managed to say.

  Luther nodded in agreement. He crossed the courtyard quickly, his manner formal but his expression still guarded. ‘I’ve been looking all over the fortress for you,’ he said.

  Zahariel frowned. ‘Why didn’t you contact me on the vox?’

  ‘Because some conversations don’t belong on the network,’ Luther replied in a low voice. ‘I’m about to attend a very important meeting, and I want you there as well.’

  The Librarian’s frown deepened. ‘Of course,’ he replied at once. Then, more hesitantly, he said, ‘The hour is very late, brother. What’s this about? Has something happened?’

  Luther’s handsome face turned grim. ‘An hour ago, insurgents launched attacks on foundries, manufactories and Administratum buildings all over Caliban,’ he said. ‘Since then, riots have broken out in a number of arcologies, including the new one up in the Northwilds.’ His lip curled in an angry snarl. ‘The constabulary has been unable to deal with the crisis, so I’ve despatched ten regiments of Jaegers to restore order.’

  The news stunned Zahariel. Suddenly, Luther’s decision to withhold the Legion’s reinforcements seemed almost prescient. The insurgency on Caliban had entered a dangerous new phase. His mind began to race, recalling reams of data on combat readiness, deployment times and logistics requirements for the Astartes chapters and support units on-planet. ‘Will this be an operational meeting, or a strategic one?’ he asked. ‘I’ll need a few minutes to collect the proper data files.’

  ‘Neither,’ Luther replied. His expression became guarded. ‘The rebel leaders have been in contact with Lord Cypher. They want to meet with me under a flag of parley, and I’ve agreed. They’ll arrive within the hour.’

  THE SHUTTLE WAS a standard Imperial design, anonymous and unnoticed among the hundreds of craft coming and going from the landing fields around Aldurukh. At precisely two hours past midnight, the transport touched down and lowered its landing ramp. Its engines subsided to an idle hum as five individuals moved quickly and purposefully down the ramp and crossed the permacrete towards the open doorway of a nearby hangar. They entered the cavernous space warily, scanning the deep shadows for potential threats. Finding none, the rebel leaders and their lone escort crossed to the centre of the building, where Luther and Zahariel stood in the glow of one of the hangar’s many floodlights.

  Zahariel watched the traitors approach and tried to remain outwardly calm. His mind was in turmoil, torn between outrage and obedience. Luther’s decision to meet with the leaders of the insurrection shocked him to the core; it went against everything the Legion had taught him. Defiance of Imperial law demanded swift and ruthless action, without mercy or compromise. Negotiation of any kind was unthinkable, and threatened to undermine the Emperor’s authority. Entire worlds had been devastated for less.

  But this wasn’t some strange, isolated planet like Sarosh. This was Caliban. These were his people, and Zahariel knew in his heart that they weren’t corrupt or evil. Perhaps that was what was foremost in Luther’s mind as well, he thought. It served no one, least of all the Emperor, if millions of innocent lives were lost thanks to the actions of a misguided few. And if anyone could convince these men to abandon their cause, it was Luther. So Zahariel told himself, and tried to master the doubts that gnawed at his heart.

  The five figures each wore an aspirant’s hooded surplice, hiding their faces in shadow. None of them were armed, as the ancient traditions of parley demanded. As they stepped into the circle of light, Zahariel felt a rising pain in the back of his head. His vision wavered; the hooded figures seemed to double before his eyes, and the light flickered strangely. The Librarian screwed his eyes shut and used the rotes he’d learned from Israfael to try and clear his mind. When he opened them again, his vision was clear, but the pain refused to go away. The rebel leaders drew back their hoods, one by one. Lord Cypher was in the lead, his expression flat and unreadable. The others Zahariel recognised with a mix of anger and dismay.

  The firs
t of the rebel leaders was Lord Thuriel, scion of a noble family in the southlands that still clung stubbornly to its last vestiges of wealth and power. Behind him came Lord Malchial, the son of a famous knight who had earned much renown during Jonson’s crusade against the great beasts. The fact that he and Thuriel had been bitter enemies for decades led Zahariel to wonder what could have possibly united them so.

  After Malchial came another surprise: the third rebel leader was a woman. Lady Alera had inherited her title when all four of her brothers had been killed in the Northwilds, and under her leadership her household had prospered until the coming of the Emperor. Now her fortunes were in decline, like all of Caliban’s noble families, but she remained a force to be reckoned with.

  But the last of the rebels was the most surprising of all. Zahariel recognised the man’s ruined face at once: more than a half a century ago, Sar Daviel had been among the knights who had stormed the fortress of the Knights of Lupus, and was one of the warriors who fought the terrible beasts that their foes had loosed upon the Order. A monster’s huge paw had crushed the right side of his face, caving in his cheekbone and bursting his eye. The creature’s talons had carved Daviel’s flesh down to the bone in five ragged arcs that stretched from his right ear all the way to his chin. By some miracle he’d survived the terrible wound, but when the Emperor had come and the Order had been absorbed into the Legion his request to join the ranks of the Astartes had been denied. The young knight had left Aldurukh soon after, and none knew what had become of him. Daviel was an old man now; his hair had grown white and his face seamed with decades of hard living out on Caliban’s ever-shrinking frontier, but his body was still lean and strong for a man almost seventy years of age.

  Thuriel caught sight of Zahariel, and the noble’s sharp, aristocratic features darkened with rage. He rounded on Cypher. ‘You assured us that only Luther would attend the parley,’ he snapped. Lady Alera and Lord Malchial cast suspicious looks at the Librarian’s tall, imposing form.

  ‘That’s not for Lord Cypher to decide,’ Luther replied in a steely tone. ‘Brother-Librarian Zahariel is my lieutenant; anything you say to me can be said to him as well.’ He folded his arms and stared forbiddingly at the rebels. ‘You requested this parley, so let’s hear what you have to say.’

  The cool menace in Luther’s voice caused Lord Thuriel to pale slightly. Malchial and Alera looked uneasily at one another, but neither seemed willing to speak. Finally Sar Daviel let out an impatient growl and said, ‘We speak for the free peoples of Caliban, my lord, and we declare that the Imperial occupation must end.’

  ‘Occupation?’ Luther echoed, his voice faintly incredulous. ‘Caliban is an Imperial world now, governed and protected by the Emperor’s law and the might of the First Legion.’

  ‘Protected? More like conquered,’ Malchial interjected. ‘It was Lion El’Jonson who welcomed the Emperor – his father, if rumours be true – to Caliban and delivered the planet into his hands.’

  ‘For all we know, that was their plan all along,’ Lady Alera snapped. ‘It seems very convenient to me that Jonson arrives on Caliban under very mysterious circumstances, and then, just when he’s gained control of the planet’s knightly orders, the Emperor just happens to find him.’

  ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,’ Zahariel snapped. ‘You people don’t know what you’re talking about! If you had any idea how vast the Imperium is—’

  Luther cut off the Librarian with an upraised hand and a warning glance. ‘My lieutenant speaks out of turn,’ he said smoothly. ‘Nevertheless, your suspicions, Lady Alera, are groundless at best. As to you, Lord Malchial, how do you defend the assertion that my primarch delivered Caliban to the Emperor? Our own legends speak of Caliban’s ties to distant Terra. Now, thanks to the Emperor, those ties have been restored, and our planet has entered a new age of prosperity.’

  ‘Prosperity?’ Lord Thuriel snarled. The noble’s initial pallor had vanished beneath a swelling tide of outrage. ‘Is that what you call the wholesale plundering of our world? Perhaps if you’d stuck your head outside the walls of this spreading canker you call a fortress you’d see how Caliban suffers! Our forests are gone, our villages ploughed under, our mountains cracked open like nuts and scraped clean by huge mining machines! Noble families that fought and bled for their lands and their people for generations have been disinherited, their feudal subjects carried off and put to work in Imperial factories and mines. And the knightly orders who might have protected us from all of this have all been disbanded or—’ he glanced up at Zahariel’s giant form ‘—altered nearly beyond recognition.’

  Zahariel’s fists clenched at the implied insult. Only Luther’s steady demeanour kept the Librarian’s anger in check and the rules of parley intact.

  By contrast, the Master of Caliban folded his arms and chuckled softly. ‘And now we get to the heart of things,’ he said with a mirthless grin. He indicated the rebel leaders with a sweep of his hand. ‘Your grievances are personal, not collective; you’re not rebelling for the sake of your feudal subjects, as you call them, but because you’ve lost the wealth and power your families have hoarded over the centuries. Do you imagine that the majority of our people would actually want to become peasant farmers once more? The Emperor has completed the process that Jonson began here with the Order: providing safety, security and above all, equality for everyone, regardless of their class or station.’

  Lady Alera looked pointedly from Luther to Zahariel and back again. ‘Clearly some people are more equal than others,’ she said. Luther shook his head, refusing to take the bait. ‘Appearances can be deceiving,’ he replied evenly.

  ‘Indeed they can,’ Sar Daviel said, stepping to the front of the group. ‘Look at me, brother. I’m no pampered earl’s son. I earned these scars by your side in the Northwilds, serving Jonson’s vision. And how was I rewarded?’

  Luther sighed. ‘Brother, it was nothing more than cruel fate that kept you from the ranks of the Legion. Your injuries were too severe to permit the process of transformation, just as I was too advanced in years. It was your decision to leave. You still had a place at Aldurukh.’ ‘Doing what?’ Daviel shot back. ‘Polishing the armour of my betters? Scurrying through the halls like a pageboy?’ Tears shone at the corners of his remaining eye. ‘I’m a knight, Luther. That used to mean something. It meant something to you, once upon a time. You were the greatest among us, and frankly it kills me to see how Jonson has used you all these years.’

  Zahariel saw Luther stiffen slightly. Daviel’s blow had struck home.

  ‘Have a care, brother,’ Luther said, his voice subdued. ‘You presume too much. Jonson united this world. He saved us from the threat of the beasts. I could never have done that.’

  But Daviel didn’t waver. He held Luther’s gaze without flinching. ‘I think you could have,’ he replied. ‘Jonson could never have convinced the other knightly orders to support his crusade against the beasts. You did that. The plan might have been his, but you were the one who rallied an entire world behind it. The truth is that Jonson owes you everything. And look how he has repaid you. He’s cast you aside, just like me.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Luther snarled, his voice sharp with anger.

  ‘Not so,’ Daviel said, shaking his head sadly. ‘I was there, brother. I watched it happen. When I was a child, my greatest ambition was to become a knight and ride at your side. I know what a great man you are, even if no one on Caliban still remembers. Jonson knows, too. How could he not? You raised him like a son, after all. And now he’s left you behind, like the rest of us.’

  Lady Alera stepped forward. ‘What has the Imperium truly given us? Yes, the forests are gone, and with them the beasts, but now our people have been herded into arcologies and put to work in manufactories or recruited to serve in the Imperial Army. Every hour of every day we see a little more of ourselves carved away and carried off into the stars, to serve a cause that doesn’t benefit us
in the least.’

  ‘You can scorn the old ways if you wish, Luther,’ Lord Thuriel added, ‘but before the creation of the Order, the noble houses provided the knights that fought and died for the peasantry. Yes, we took our due, but we gave back as well. We served in our own way. How do Jonson and the Emperor serve us? They take the very best of what we have and give little or nothing in return. Surely you of all people can see that.’

  ‘I see nothing of the kind,’ Luther answered, but his expression had grown clouded. ‘What about medicines, or better education? What about art and civilization?’

  Malchial snorted derisively. ‘Medicines and education that make us better labourers, you mean. And what good are art or entertainments when you’re too busy slaving in a manufactory to appreciate them?’

  ‘Do you imagine ours is the only world called upon to contribute to the Great Crusade?’ Luther replied. ‘Zahariel is right. If you only knew the scope of the Emperor’s undertaking.’

  ‘What we know is that we’re being impoverished for the sake of people we don’t know and have never seen,’ Thuriel countered. ‘We’ve had our culture and traditions taken from us,’ Daviel interjected. ‘And now our people are in greater danger than ever before.’ Luther frowned. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he asked, some of the anger returning to his voice.

  Daviel started to answer, but Malchial cut him off. ‘It means that Caliban’s suffering will continue to worsen under Imperial rule. The question is whether or not you will stand by and allow it to happen.’

  ‘You’re not our enemy, Sar Luther,’ Lady Alera said. ‘We know you’re a brave and honourable man. Our fight is with the Imperium, not with you or your warriors.’

  Zahariel stepped forward. ‘We are servants of the Emperor, my lady.’