The Unremembered Empire Part 34

*In the spirit of our brothers, the Salamanders,' said Caspean, *Vulkan lived. But he does so no longer.'

Dolor was about to reply when the vital sensors of every man in the vicinity, including his own, went off. They had all been set to maximum yield earlier that evening, in the hope of detecting the Night Haunter as he hunted through the dark.

A brand-new life trace had been detected within five metres of them.

*Great Terra!' Caspean exclaimed.

Vulkan sat up in the pool of blood. He gazed at them, his eyes like the hearts of red suns.

*My lord,' said Dolor, taking a step forward. *My honoured Lord Vulkan, wea'

Vulkan ignored him and got up. He took several deep breaths as if scenting the air, and gazed over the lip of the Aegis Wall towards the hot fire burning in the Treasury quarter.

*My lord,' Dolor urged, *will you speak to us? Will you tell us where you have been, what has befallen you, and how you come to us? My lord, Ia'

Vulkan didn't look back. He jumped onto the rampart of the Aegis Wall, spread his arms wide, and stepped off.

He fell, magnificent, like a cliff-diver, head first into the dark green s.p.a.ce of the parkland below the Castrum.

20.

Alignment

*Cut in darkness, and you are called a monster;

cut in starlight, and you are proclaimed a G.o.d.'

a The Nocturniad, Eleventh Cycle.

They hurried through the subsystem of Strayko Deme, moving through the ancient but well-maintained network of sewers, outfalls and storm drains that lay beneath the paved streets and refined avenues. Occasionally, light fell upon them through drain gratings or grilles, and where it did, it was tinged with flame.

*Why are we moving?' John asked. Narek had unbound him, but hustled him along on a leash of dirty rope tied around the Perpetual's neck.

*You heard the blast.'

*It could have been anything.'

*Tell me it wasn't.'

*I can't tell you anything, Nareka'

*Respect!'

*I can't tell you anything, my lord,' John Grammaticus repeated in a low voice. *This close to that torc you're wearing, I'm limited to virtually nothing. And I'm in pain.'

*That is a shame.'

*Tell me what you know then.'

Narek came to a halt. They had just entered the cistern of a wide storm drain, circular in cross-section. Dark, pungent water rippled around their feet as they came to a stop.

*Some form of aircraft crashed, not far from where I had you secured. The authorities of the city will be closing in. I can fight Ultramarines well enough, but perhaps not all the Ultramarines. So, we're moving.'

*To where?'

*Wherever I can find. Come on.'

John paused.

*Come on!' Narek hissed, snapping on the rope. John lurched, his neck jerked painfully.

*Look, Narek. My lord. I could help more than this.'

Narek of the Word looked at him carefully.

*You are full of mind-tricks and deceit, John Grammaticus... or Caeron Sebaton... or whoever else you ever are. Our business on Traoris taught me that.'

John nodded.

*Yeah, I b.l.o.o.d.y am.' He ran an index finger around the inside of the noose to loosen it. *If I could escape from you, Narek, I would. There, I'm honest, at least. You are dangerous. You're never more than a few moments away from killing me, and you don't trust me. But this, Narek of the Word, this is not a good position for either of us to be in.'

John stepped towards the frowning Word Bearer. Oozing water rolled around his ankles.

*There are worse allies to have than a s.p.a.ce Marine,' he offered, *just as there are worse allies to have than a Perpetual. Of course, that's true only if they get to work to their strengths. Take off the torc.'

*No.'

*Take it off.'

*No,' said Narek. *I am no fool. You are high-function. You would... blow out my brain with an aneurism with one thought-blink, and leave me dead. Or something.'

John shrugged.

*I suppose,' he said. *Though that would be worst case, and at least it would be quick.'

*You could do that?' asked Narek.

*Of course I couldn't!' John snapped. *I'm a telepath, not a telekine. I can do all sorts of things, Narek. I can read your mind, or let you read mine, speak any language, be anyone I like, surveil the area for psykana sensitivity, or even look into the ghostly filaments of the near-past and near-future... None of which sound like bad ideas, right now. It would be good to have more immediate combat intel than "something crashed so we had to run".'

Narek grunted.

*I could read disposition,' said John. *I could tell you where the Ultramarines are. I could guide us. I could alert us to proximate activity. I could find what we're looking for.'

*You're dangerous,' Narek whispered.

*So are you. And right now, my lord, I think leaving me hooded is making this situation even more dangerous than it has to be for both of us.'

*I don't trust you,' said Narek, clenching his steel-gloved fist around the rope to yank it again.

*I know,' John replied, *but you want to use me as a weapon to a.s.sa.s.sinate your dear, beloved primarch, so I think you'll probably have to start trusting me at some point, or that's never ever going to become a practical possibility. Weapons need love, respect, careful handling and a chance to excel in their particular way. Ask your sword. Ask that ridiculously large d.a.m.ned rifle of yours.'

John took a step closer. The rope between them slackened.

*Narek, trust is the issue here. Let me open my mind. Let me allow us to see each other's thoughts. There's a lot of common ground, I think, more than you'd imagine. We're never going to be alike, you and me, but I think we're aligned.'

*Aligned?' the Word Bearer asked, his voice very small and hollow.

*Yes. We're in alignment. We're not like the hands of a clock at midnight. We're never going to point in the same direction. But think of the hands at six o'clock.'

He paused.

*You know what a clock is, right?'

*I've seen them,' Narek nodded. He was more used to digital chronometer displays.

*At six o'clock, the hands point in opposite directions, but they make a straight line,' said John. *They are in alignment.'

*I see.'

*Do you?'

Narek nodded. *It is a metaphor for cooperation between two individuals who have conflicting aims, but many common values.'

*Right. s.h.i.+t, that's right.'

Narek hesitated.

*I am alone,' he admitted eventually. *I have turned against my Legion. I have killed a certain number of my brothers. But my Legion has turned, so I am an outsider to all others. No loyalist would ever trust me, no Imperial Fist or Iron Hand, and a since Calth a no n.o.ble Ultramarine. I am cursed at every turn. All I can do is make amends. All I can do is cleanse and restore my Legion, for it was once so great! It was beautiful, John Grammaticus. It was the truest expression of the Emperor's word.'

*I'm sorry for your loss,' John said, *and I'm not mocking you when I say that. You scare me half to death, Narek of the Word, but I admire you. The way Horus's war has played out, the brothers of the Word Bearers are on the wrong side. You've thrown yourselves in with darkness. So, understand me. I'm astonished by you, by your resilience and loyalty to the original high principles of your Legion. The cosmos believes all Word Bearers to be traitors, heretics and rebels, but you, alone, have rebelled against their rebellion. I admire that. That's why I'm even considering helping you in your cause.'

He shrugged.

*But I wish you'd let me read you, so I could be sure the tale you're spinning me is true. The Word Bearers manipulate truth. Your story could simply be a way of obtaining me and the spear for Lorgar.'

*It is not.'

*Prove it.'

Narek thought for a long time.

*A comrade would be welcome on my lonely mission,' he muttered. *A battle-brother, an ally. Even... a person in alignment.'

*Take off the torc,' John said. *Let's find out where we are. Let's get in alignment.'

Narek paused.

*I do not trust you, John Grammaticus,' he said.

*I know,' John replied, *but there's no one else here, and you need to trust someone.'

Narek hesitated, and then reached out and removed the noose from around John's neck. He slung his cased rifle over his shoulder, took a breath, and drew his bolt pistol from its holster.

He aimed the weapon at John, and, with his other hand, reached for the control stud on the side of the psychic torc.

Narek pressed the stud. At a deep, psychic level, there was a local suspension of vibration. The aching dullness that had been hobbling John's hind brain for hours began to dispel.

It was an unpleasant, nauseating experience. John staggered, and rested his hand against the wall of the storm drain. His mind was rapidly becoming aware of its environs, an overload of restored psychic feedback.

Narek watched him warily. He unclasped the torc and handed it to John.

John took it.

*Do not make me regret this,' Narek said.

*Oh, he won't,' said a voice from behind them.

Narek turned with transhuman speed to locate the source of the voice. His pistol wavered, aiming, seeking a solid target.

Damon Prytanis stepped out from behind the curve of the brick-built drain, an oddly slovenly figure in his dirty fur coat. He had a shuriken pistol aimed in each hand.

*Sorry I'm late,' he said brightly, and opened fire. *The Blessed Lady sends her regards.'

Narek fired once, but projectiles had already punched into his hand, arm and shoulder and ruined his aim. The discharged bolt sh.e.l.l shot wild and struck the ceiling of the drain tunnel.

Damon's fusillade ripped across Narek, a blanket of whizzing monomolecular discs. Damon Prytanis employed none of the feather-finger restraint he had used against the praecentals to conserve ammunition. This was a fully armoured s.p.a.ce Marine. The blitz of razor-rounds shredded into Narek of the Word, and explosively peppered the tunnel wall behind him. John had to dive into the ooze for cover.

*Johnny-boy!' Damon yelled, still shooting. *Come to papa! It's time to depart!'