Maggard was perfectly suited to his new role. He had killed hundreds of people at the behest of House Carpinus and many more than that before he had been captured by them, but these had been poor, messy killings compared to the death he now carried.
He remembered the sense of magnificent beginnings when Maloghurst had tasked him with the death of Ignace Karkasy.
Maggard had jammed the barrel of his pistol beneath the poet’s quivering jaw and blown his brains out over the roof of his cramped room before letting the generously fleshed body crash to the floor in a flurry of bloody papers.
Why Maloghurst had required Karkasy’s death did not concern Maggard. The equerry spoke with the voice of Horus and Maggard had pledged his undying loyalty to the Warmaster on the battlefield of Davin when he had offered him his sword.
Later, whether in reward or as part of his ongoing designs, the Warmaster had killed his former mistress, Petronella Vivar, and for that, Maggard was forever in his debt.
Whatever the Warmaster desired, Maggard would move heaven or hell to see it done.
Now he had been ordered to do something wondrous.
Now he was going to kill a saint.
S INDERMANN BEAT HIS middle finger against his chin in a nervous tattoo as he tried to look as if he belonged in this part of the ship. Deck crew in orange jumpsuits and ordnance officers in yellow jackets threaded past him as he awaited his accomplices in this endeavor. He clutched the chit the guard had given him tightly, as though it were some kind of talisman that would protect him if someone challenged him.
‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered. ‘Where are you?’
It had been a risk contacting Titus Cassar, but he had no one else to turn to. Mersadie did not believe in the Lectitio Divinitatus, and in truth he wasn’t sure he did yet, but he knew that whatever or whoever had sent him the vision of Euphrati Keeler had meant him to act upon it. Likewise, Garviel Loken was out of the question, for it was certain that his movements would not escape notice.
‘Iterator,’ hissed a voice from beside him and Sindermann almost cried aloud in surprise. Titus Cassar stood beside him, an earnest expression creasing his slender face. Another man stood behind him, similarly uniformed in the dark blue of a Titan crewman. ‘Titus,’ breathed Sindermann in relief. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come.’
‘We won’t have long before Princeps Turnet notices we are not at our posts, but your communication said the saint was in danger.’
‘She is,’ confirmed Sindermann, ‘grave danger,’
‘How do you know?’ asked the second man. Cassar’s brow twisted in annoyance. ‘I’m sorry, Kyril, this is Jonah Aruken, my fellow Moderati on the Dies Irae . He is one of us.’
‘I just know,’ said Sindermann. ‘I saw… I don’t know… a vision of her lying on her bed and I just knew that someone intended her harm.’
‘A vision,’ breathed Cassar. ‘Truly you are one of the chosen of the Emperor.’
‘No, no,’ hissed Sindermann. ‘I’m really not. Now come on, we don’t have time for this, we have to go now.’
‘Where?’ asked Jonah Aruken. ‘The medicae deck,’ said Sindermann, holding up his chit. ‘We have to get to the medicae deck.’
T HE SURFACE OF the shimmering globe above Horus resolved into continents and oceans, overlaid with the traceries of geophysical features: plains, forests, seas, mountain ranges and cities.
Horus held up his arms, as if supporting the globe from below like some titan from the ancient myths of old Earth.
‘This is Isstvan III,’ he repeated, ‘a world brought into compliance thirteen years ago by the 27th expeditionary force of our brother Corax.’
‘And he wasn’t up to the job?’ snorted Angron.
Horus shot Angron a dangerous look. ‘There was some resistance, yes, but the last elements of the aggressive faction were destroyed by the Raven Guard at the Redarth Valley.’
The battle site flared
He remembered the sense of magnificent beginnings when Maloghurst had tasked him with the death of Ignace Karkasy.
Maggard had jammed the barrel of his pistol beneath the poet’s quivering jaw and blown his brains out over the roof of his cramped room before letting the generously fleshed body crash to the floor in a flurry of bloody papers.
Why Maloghurst had required Karkasy’s death did not concern Maggard. The equerry spoke with the voice of Horus and Maggard had pledged his undying loyalty to the Warmaster on the battlefield of Davin when he had offered him his sword.
Later, whether in reward or as part of his ongoing designs, the Warmaster had killed his former mistress, Petronella Vivar, and for that, Maggard was forever in his debt.
Whatever the Warmaster desired, Maggard would move heaven or hell to see it done.
Now he had been ordered to do something wondrous.
Now he was going to kill a saint.
S INDERMANN BEAT HIS middle finger against his chin in a nervous tattoo as he tried to look as if he belonged in this part of the ship. Deck crew in orange jumpsuits and ordnance officers in yellow jackets threaded past him as he awaited his accomplices in this endeavor. He clutched the chit the guard had given him tightly, as though it were some kind of talisman that would protect him if someone challenged him.
‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered. ‘Where are you?’
It had been a risk contacting Titus Cassar, but he had no one else to turn to. Mersadie did not believe in the Lectitio Divinitatus, and in truth he wasn’t sure he did yet, but he knew that whatever or whoever had sent him the vision of Euphrati Keeler had meant him to act upon it. Likewise, Garviel Loken was out of the question, for it was certain that his movements would not escape notice.
‘Iterator,’ hissed a voice from beside him and Sindermann almost cried aloud in surprise. Titus Cassar stood beside him, an earnest expression creasing his slender face. Another man stood behind him, similarly uniformed in the dark blue of a Titan crewman. ‘Titus,’ breathed Sindermann in relief. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come.’
‘We won’t have long before Princeps Turnet notices we are not at our posts, but your communication said the saint was in danger.’
‘She is,’ confirmed Sindermann, ‘grave danger,’
‘How do you know?’ asked the second man. Cassar’s brow twisted in annoyance. ‘I’m sorry, Kyril, this is Jonah Aruken, my fellow Moderati on the Dies Irae . He is one of us.’
‘I just know,’ said Sindermann. ‘I saw… I don’t know… a vision of her lying on her bed and I just knew that someone intended her harm.’
‘A vision,’ breathed Cassar. ‘Truly you are one of the chosen of the Emperor.’
‘No, no,’ hissed Sindermann. ‘I’m really not. Now come on, we don’t have time for this, we have to go now.’
‘Where?’ asked Jonah Aruken. ‘The medicae deck,’ said Sindermann, holding up his chit. ‘We have to get to the medicae deck.’
T HE SURFACE OF the shimmering globe above Horus resolved into continents and oceans, overlaid with the traceries of geophysical features: plains, forests, seas, mountain ranges and cities.
Horus held up his arms, as if supporting the globe from below like some titan from the ancient myths of old Earth.
‘This is Isstvan III,’ he repeated, ‘a world brought into compliance thirteen years ago by the 27th expeditionary force of our brother Corax.’
‘And he wasn’t up to the job?’ snorted Angron.
Horus shot Angron a dangerous look. ‘There was some resistance, yes, but the last elements of the aggressive faction were destroyed by the Raven Guard at the Redarth Valley.’
The battle site flared
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