About the other matter. The passenger/
'It's a daemonhost/
'Yes, it is/1 said, almost relieved.
'You bound it into Verveuk's body on Miquol/
'I did. I think you watched me do it/
'I was concussed, drowsy. But, yes. I saw it/
'What do you think about that?'
He made a guard piece a regent and crossed into my sinister field. The game would be over in another half dozen moves.
'I try not to, for what it's worth. I try not to imagine how a man I have followed and believed in for so long suddenly has the means and power to unleash a daemon, channel it and bind it again. I try not to think about the possibility that Bastian Verveuk was alive when the binding occurred. I try to believe that my beloved inquisitor hasn't crossed a line from where there is no crossing back/
'Checkmate/ he added.
I conceded both boards and sat back. 'I'm sorry/1 said.
'For what?'
'For putting you through this/
'Your questions are-'
'No. I don't mean that. In the course of my hunt for Quixos, I learned several dark things. Chief of those was the means to control a daemon. It is knowledge that I would have chosen never to use. But the Titan was too much. It couldn't be allowed to survive. I had nothing left in my arsenal except dark lore/
I understand, Gregor. Truly. This conversation wasn't even necessary. You did what you had to do. We survived… most of us anyway. Chaos was denied. That's the job, isn't it? No one ever said it would be easy. Sacrifices have to be made or the God-Emperor's work will never be done/
He leaned forward, his augmetic eyes glittering in the firelight. 'Honestly, Gregor… if I thought you had become some demented radical, would I be sitting here playing regicide with you?'
Thank you, Uber/ I said.
Aemos had given me a harder time than I had expected. Medea, on the other hand, I was braced for, and her reaction surprised me too.
'Daemon-what? I don't care.'
'You don't?'
'Not really. Thuring is all I care about, and you used everything you had to to get him.'
'I did/
'Well, good for you.'
We were sitting in amongst the plush cushions of the
She peered at me, frowning. 'Oh, I get it. You're afraid that all of us will think that you've become some heretical psycho crazy.'
By 'all of us' she meant my staff.
'Do you?'
'Hell, no! Get over it, boss! If I could do what you can do, I'd have done the same! Screw Thuring any way you can!'
I sighed. 'I didn't do it for your rather, Medea.'
'What?'
'I mean I did, but I didn't. I wanted to avenge Midas, of course, but I only unleashed the daemon because Thuring and his damned Titan threatened more than just us.'
That planet, you mean?'
'That planet… and others.'
'Right.'
'What's the matter?'
She stroked her hair back off her face and reached for her drink. You're telling me that if the planet hadn't been in danger, you wouldn't have done the whole daemon thing?'
'No. I want you to understand this. I wanted Thuring dead. I wanted him to pay for your father's death. But I didn't release Cherabael in vengeance. That would have been petty and small- minded. I could never have justified that, not even to myself. I released the daemon because Fayde Thuring had become more than just a personal enemy. He'd become an enemy of the Imperium. I had to stop him then, and I was out of options. What I mean is, it was a totally pragmatic decision in the end. Not a weak, emotional one.'
'Whatever. Thuring suffered, didn't he? He burned? That's all I care about. But you owe me, though?'
'I do?'
You swore it. On your secrets. That I'd be there when-'
You were!'
'No thanks to you! And not so I could play a part and make Thuring suffer. So you owe me. And I want that secret. Now/
'What secret?'
You choose. But it's got to be the darkest one you have. Since you brought it up, what about this… this Cherabael?'
And that was how I came to tell her everything about the daemonhost. Everything. I did it because of the honour of our oath. I also did it, I believe now, because I wished to unburden myself to a confessor and Bequin wasn't there. I did it and didn't even pause to think what might result from it.
God-Emperor forgive me.
I have always loved Gudrun, the old capital world of the Helican sub-sector. For a long time, I had made my main home on Thracian Primaris, a world crusted by cities, riddled with crime, lamed by overpopulation. But I had only lived there for the sake of convenience. It was the capital world after all, and the Palace of the Inquisition was sited there. I visit it as little as possible, for it depresses me.
But after the vile events of the Holy Novena, five decades before, I had transferred my chief residence to the more relaxing climes of Gudrun. Returning there, I felt somehow safe.
We bade Startis farewell and offloaded our luggage onto a privately chartered shuttle. I had prepared a cargo pod for Cherubael, fully inscribed and warded, the accomplishment of which took many hours. I said the appropriate rites and chained it inside, adding a charm that would render it docile. The pod was loaded by mute servitors into the shuttle's hold.
We dropped planetwards.
From the ports of the passenger bay, I looked down at the green expanses of the world. The great stretches of wild land and forest, the blue seas, the tight order of the ancient cities. For many years it had been the sub-sector capital, until the bloated giant Thracian Primaris had commandeered that role. I knew from experience that evil and corruption lurked here as much as it did on any Imperial world. But this was the epitome of Imperial life, for all its vices and flaws, a singular example of the very culture I had devoted my life to safeguard.
We made a detour on the descent. I felt it prudent to secure Cherabael somewhere other than my residence, though I had previously stored it in the secret oubliette below the foundations. If there were any official consequences to the incident on Durer, my estate could be subject to all manner of unwelcome scrutiny.
I covertly owned a number of premises on Gudrun. They were not held in my name, so that they could be used as safehouses or private retreats. One was a semi-rained watchtower in the
