Legion of the Damned

am Nazimir, Pontifex-Urba of the Palace Euphorica. Welcome to St Ethalberg.’

Kersh cast his eyes over the pontifex at the heretics suffering on the wall. ‘Thank you, pontifex, but I can think of few places in the galaxy less welcoming than this,’ he told him.

Nazimir managed a sardonic laugh, passing Kersh’s reply off as a joke. ‘Can I introduce Convocate Clemenz-Krycek, Confessor Tyutchev and Arch-Deacon Schedonski.’

‘You can,’ Kersh said, ‘but I’m even less interested in meeting them than I was in meeting you.’

Nazimir’s smile died on his face.

‘We have invited you into our–’

‘No, sir,’ Kersh corrected him. ‘You have demanded an audience with the Emperor’s Angels. You now have that audience. You have applied some mysterious pressure, through your wiles and politicking, that has meant that Quesiah Ichabod – Master of the Excoriators Chapter – has insisted I exchange words with Cardinal Pontian of St Ethalberg. I am here to do just that. No less. No more.’

‘We speak for the cardinal,’ Nazimir said, leaning on his cane.

‘The cardinal cannot speak for himself?’

‘Not for many years now.’

‘Then the cardinal and I have said all that we are ever going to say,’ Kersh told them and turned away. Marching for the colossal archway egress, the Scourge said into his vox, ‘Impunitas, this is Kersh. Prepare–’

‘Corpus-captain!’

‘Excoriator!’

‘Kersh!’

Something hit the Scourge’s pauldron. With blistering reflexes the corpus-captain turned and snatched the object out of the air, his face a mask of grizzled venom. In his gauntlet he held a crumpled vellum scroll. The stunted Schedonski held the other end in his gnarled claws with the length of manuscript taut between them.

‘That was unwise, mortal,’ Ezrachi warned.

‘This is the Suspiriana Obligatio,’ Schedonski continued. ‘It details the mysterious pressure you speak of, Excoriator. It is the holy covenant that binds us and blesses our union with common purpose.’

Snatching it from the priest’s grip, Kersh slapped the tattered scroll into Melmoch’s chestplate. The Librarian scanned through the manuscript, feeding the length of the scroll through his gauntlets as he read. The Epistolary’s eyes blazed across the complexities of Adeptus Astartes Chapter commitments, blood oaths and the resolutions of antiquity. His shoulders sagged.

‘Well?’ Kersh pressed, his snarling face still fixed on Schedonski.

‘It’s a small avocation, my lord, but it exists. The cardinal world is granted succouricance rites for their role in the prayer-suppression of the daemon Chorozramodeus. These are guaranteed through the Conclave Suspiria and the Decree Vinculum, sworn on the bones of Constantine of Alamar. These rites extend through the unhonoured obligations of the Relictors, an existing accord between Chapter Masters Bardane and Abadiah – and through Abadiah, Master Ichabod. The rights also extend through the reassignment of the Aquinas and Ptolemy subsector boundaries. This, sir, all reinforced by a solitary but significant verse from the Mythos Angelica Mortis.’

‘The witchbreed speaks true,’ Schedonski spat, ill-disguising his disgust at the presence of the psyker.

‘Kersh,’ Nazimir sneered as Schedonski gathered the vellum. ‘You have obligations, corpus-captain. The weight of history lies on your broad shoulders. It would be a shame to see you falter and have such responsibilities pass from the penitent Relictors, through your failings, to another Chapter.’

‘That is why your Chapter Master has sent you here,’ Confessor Tyutchev pitched in. ‘He appreciates the import of pact and decorum. Mind you do the same, Excoriator.’

‘Be guided by the God-Emperor’s will in this, Angel,’ Convocate Clemenz-Krycek instructed.

Kersh let the ecclesiarchs’ insults wash over him. He looked to Ezrachi. He had brought the Apothecary along to help him cut through such chicanery.

‘You have words for these words?’ Kersh asked him.

Ezrachi’s face was taut with tension. The priests’ conduct had irritated him as much as any Excoriator in the chamber.

‘We are the Adeptus Astartes,’ he replied. ‘Our actions speak louder than our words.’

Kersh nodded. ‘Squad Contritus, are you in position?’ the Scourge said simply. His vox crackled back a short confirmation. Nazimir’s hooded eyes narrowed with confusion. The priests looked about the throne room. The Excoriators’ escort of Scout Marines had vanished. Only Kersh and his power-armoured brothers remained. ‘Pick your targets,’ Kersh said, his eyes burning into Nazimir. Red dots appeared on the hoods of armed Redemptionists about the room, causing consternation and panic in the hordes of clerics, scribes and menials about them.

‘You would mount an operation within the Palace Euphorica!’ the pontifex screamed incredulously.

‘Execute,’ Kersh commanded.

A thud-whoosh reverberated about the chamber. Headless bodies crashed to the cathedral floor in unison. The response was immediate. The statuesque Sisters of Battle in their crimson power armour turned to present arms – the gaping barrels of their bolters pointing at the Excoriators. The Inclement Reserves immediately went for their officer sidearms and, like the fraters who had got their chunky fingers to their secreted autoguns, were scanning the alcoves, statues and doorways to private chapels for any sign of their assailants. Squad Whip Keturah and his Scouts had all long secreted themselves, peeling off one by one unnoticed to take concealed positions about the colossal chamber. They had attached sonic-suppressors and set their rifles to non-visible wavelengths.

‘What are you doing?’ Convocate Clemenz-Krycek shouted.

‘Again,’ Kersh ordered. Spinning around, the priests watched a fresh set of frater bodies hit the throne room floor. Scribes and clerics shrieked and scattered like a flock of frightened birds. Kersh spotted the phantom at the heart of the horror and confusion. It watched and waited. The thunder of bells rang through the palace.

‘My lords!’ Schedonski called.

‘The Angels have gone mad,’ Nazimir screamed at the Adepta Sororitas, waving his cane about. ‘Defend the cardinal!’

‘Kill the interlopers!’ Tyutchev yelled to his frater militia.

‘Hit them again,’ Kersh said impassively. Once more, the bodies rained to the ground.

The thick-set confessor stepped over the dead and walked fearlessly towards the Excoriators. ‘Heretics in our midst, corrupted by the dark power of the Eye,’ Tyutchev blurted, before finding the broad blade of a ceremonial kris come to rest beneath his wrinkled chin. A helmeted Sister Superior stood behind the confessor.

‘Stop this!’ the ancient Nazimir wheezed.

‘The confessor is correct,’ Kersh announced calmly. ‘There are heretics in our midst. Do your duty, Sister.’

Nazimir, Clemenz-Krycek and Schedonski all exchanged horrified glances. The battle-sister hesitated long enough to demonstrate that the Excoriator’s words were encouragement rather than instruction. Then she slit the confessor’s throat, spraying Nazimir with blood, and allowed Tyutchev’s body to fall with his Redemptionists. For a moment the throne room was lost for words.

‘What are you doing?’ Clemenz-Krycek finally repeated.

‘Tell them,’ Kersh ordered.

Chaplain Shadrath gave the fool ecclesiarchs the horror of his half-skull helmet. ‘The Adeptus Ministorum is forbidden to keep men under arms,’ he hissed, ‘by order of the High Lords of Terra. You have broken the Decree Passive – a violation punishable by death.’

A clumsy stampede could be heard in the adjoining chamber accompanied by the echo of hastily issued orders. The bells had summoned the Ethalberg Inclement Reserves in their threadbare furs and cheap flak.

‘Squad Contritus, stand by,’ Kersh spoke calmly into his vox-link.

‘No, no, no!’ Arch-Deacon Schedonski shouted, waving his arms at the giant archway entrance to the throne room. He was swiftly accompanied by the Guardsmen to whom he had been talking. The officer and his ensign ordered the charging defence force troops to stand down.

‘We had no knowledge of the Redemptionist transgression,’ Convocate Clemenz-Krycek said.