Deathwatch by Steve Parker Page B

Nightside miner. Ordimas had his new orders: infiltrate one of the work-parties, get into the mines, and report anything of note. Fate had brought two separate threads together this day. Such moments were a gift. He flexed his fingers and rolled his misshapen shoulders. With a touch, he confirmed the presence of the short black knife in his waistband, its blade coated in a very rare and potent paralytic. With another touch, he confirmed the injector packs filled with their milky purple drug, nestled patiently in a side pouch he never removed save to make ablutions. The pouch sat on his left hip beneath the hem of his dirty, sack-cloth shirt, each tiny phial inside it worth more Imperial ducats than an entire Cholixe city block.
    Readiness was ever his way. He had everything he needed. It was time for some real work.
    As he herded Nedra out into the alleyway, he thought of his favourite line from a book – the only children’s storybook he had ever owned. It was a line from which he had often drawn strength and confidence in the past, especially in the face of danger, and it was simply this:
    The smaller the scorpion, the deadlier the sting.

8
    ‘He is superb,’ admitted Sergeant Saigan. ‘You cannot deny it.’
    ‘I’ve never said otherwise,’ murmured Captain Shrike.
    From a balcony high in the western towers of the Ravenspire, the two Raven Guard Space Marines looked down on a training ground within the fortress-monastery’s inner wall. The subject of their conversation, a battle-brother named Siefer Zeed, was surrounded by twenty-three others, all of whom wielded blunted training weapons. They had asked Zeed for training outside the standard Chapter curriculum. Shrike knew he should have been pleased, but it rankled. In the eyes of most captains, Siefer Zeed was an unrepentant troublemaker. If only the Chapter Master agreed…
    ‘You cannot keep passing him over, captain,’ said Saigan. ‘Not even sergeant rank? By rights, he should have been inducted into the Wing long ago. Every soul in the Chapter knows it. How long will you set him aside?’
    Shrike felt a surge of fresh irritation and forced himself to suppress it. Saigan was right, and he knew it. That was what bothered him most; he knew he had waited too long to honour Zeed. The insult had been dealt. It could not be taken back now, even had he strolled out onto the training field this very morning and reversed his position.
    He gazed off into the distance, angry that things had gone this far. Far away, the barrier of the force-dome shimmered, shielding the Ravenspire from the void of space, fractionally distorting the horizon. Beyond the barrier, across that dusty grey expanse where no breathable atmosphere existed, Shrike could see another heavy transport lifting off from the freight station at Leiros, hauling freshly processed metals from Deliverance to the planet Kiavahr.
    That vast orange orb wasn’t visible above the Ravenspire today. The atmospheric enclosure fields were high enough for clouds to form within, and today they had.
    Fourteen hours ago, an adept from the Chapter’s communicarum had brought word of a ship seeking approach clearance. Shrike had been expecting it. Soon enough, a shuttle from that ship would descend through those clouds.
    I am committed now, but no matter. I was right to do it this way.
    Lowering his eyes again, he watched as Zeed selected three battle-brothers from the group surrounding him and told them to attack him from each side. Then, slowly at first so the others could study his movements, he began a series of simultaneous parries and attacks that would have brutally disarmed and eviscerated his foes.
    Zeed’s balance and control were superb, beyond anything the Chapter had seen for long years. Shrike harboured momentary doubts that even he could stand against him. He knew he should have been proud to count Zeed among the men of his company. Yet he could not.
    ‘I would have been glad to honour him, Saigan, if