Simandus felt the unshakable vigilance of the two Paladins before he saw them. He felt their sternness, their devotion, and their cold readiness to kill. More than anything else, however, he sensed their rage. It burned within them, kept boiling through hate and faith, and yet never did it boil over. Their rage was a furnace that fueled their commitment to defending the Augurium from all comers at all hours of the day. Simandus knew that they could sense his approach, as well. If any other being—even a fully-blooded Grey Knight battle-brother—dared to push past the Paladins and enter the Augurium without express permission, they would be cut down with burning blades before they were even aware of their transgression.
But Simandus was the Grand Master of the Exactors. He was the greatest psyker and swordsman of the Seventh Brotherhood, with seven-hundred years of service to his Chapter displayed proudly in the heraldry on his encranche. The Paladins did not budge as he rounded the corner, and remained still and stalwart as he strode past the them and into the mirrored chamber beyond.
The old Astartes within the Augurium turned as Simandus thundered across the crystalline floor in his Terminator plate. The dweller within was ancient, his face carved from granite and his hair running in white but still thick strands across the back of his head and over the snaking cables that connected to the base of his skull. He wore no power armor, only a heavy white robe trimmed with red.
The Astartes nodded. “Grand Master Simandus. It pleases me to see you. You arrived with great haste.”
Simandus stopped a pace from the other Astartes. He briefly regarded the scrolls and chunks of runic stone that hovered in the air around the old Space Marine’s head.
“One does not drag one’s feet when one is directly summoned by a Prognosticar, Genzedes.”
Genzedes smiled, the corners of his mouth distorting his craggy features like tectonic movement.
“Even so, your attentiveness is much appreciated. Punctuality has always been one of your greatest strengths.”
“Prognosticar, I apologize for speaking out of turn, but the nature of your summons implied that we do not have time for cordial platitudes.”
“And there is your other strength—your eagerness to serve. You are quite correct, Simandus. There is no time to waste. Titan itself is under the threat of imminent attack.”
Simandus blinked. His first thought was to ask Genzedes if he was certain of this prediction, but to question the veracity of a Prognosticar’s warning was an unimaginable insult. Instead he breathed in once and clenched his fist.
“By whom?”
“The Rillietann. A strike force that will appear out of a webway portal in the Dead Fields.”
Simandus felt his denial coming as he asked it. He couldn’t help himself. “That cannot be. We have an armistice with the Aeldari.”
Genzedes seemed not to take offense, but Simandus could feel the red pulse of disappointment from the Prognosticar’s psyche.
“We have agreed to terms with the Craftworld of Slait’annan,” Genzedes said. “But the Aeldari are not united as Man is. They are fractured, splintered. Their goals overlap but their methods contradict. The Harlequins who prepare for an assault on our world are likely ignorant of your relationship with the crone-rider Achilraen.”
Simandus felt himself flare up at that. He knew that his brothers did not approve of the methods he had used to cleanse Amissa Gloria from the taint of Chaos, but an alliance with xenos was infinitely preferable to the loss of a hive world of such importance. His was not a ‘relationship’ with the Autarch of Slai’tannan—it was a temporary peace in pursuit of a greater good.
He pushed his thoughts aside. “Why do they come here?”
“The heart of the matter, that is. They seek to penetrate the tombs of the Dead Fields and release Scy’slith the Devourer from his millennia prison.”
“What?”
“They believe that our containment is fallible, that we are unfit to secure such a dangerous foe within our vaults.”
“That is absurd. The Aeldari know the horror of the Archenemy intimately, more so than any other people. They can’t truly believe that releasing a daemon of Slaanesh will—I don’t understand, what do they hope to achieve?”
“I do not know,” Genzedes said, shaking his head. “But they will arrive at dawn. The other Grand Masters are spread thin across the galaxy. You must stop them, Simandus. At all costs.”
Azure lightning crackled around Simandus’ gauntlets. “How dare they doubt us. We are unbreakable. They’re the ones who spawned the damned thing int he first place.”
“Control your rage, Simandus. Harness it. Wield it as your sword, but do not let it consume you. Fight them back with your hatred.”
Simandus stood tall. He breathed in once, thought of the Paladins and their flawless mastery of their anger.
“I will be the wall against which the Harlequins break. None shall breach our lines.”
“We are depending on you, Grand Master Simandus.”
“I will not fail. You have my word, Prognosticar.”
No comments:
Post a Comment