some pencil‐thin but others as stout as the trunks of trees. A carpet of mossy fungal growth glowed a cool, pale blue.
His lungs expanding with oxygen, Sabtah realised he was still gripping the Fenrisian axe. In his haste, he had left his bolter behind. Despite its brutish appearance, the axe was gyroscopically balanced – but Sabtah lacked the axe‐craft of a Fenrisian. Instead, he would have to rely on brute strength to force its leverage, and Sabtah had plenty of brute strength.
Clutching the awkward, top‐heavy tool in a double grip, he advanced.
The creature had baited him deep. Sabtah knew that, and part of him enjoyed the thrill of a sentient adversary. By his reckoning, he had grown slow and fat on board the ship. He was a specimen made for war.
Slowly, adrenaline drew his muscles tight, the sheaths of his musculature taut with that familiar feeling of pre‐combat. His knees and forearms quavered uncontrollably, every spindle of muscle building up with unspent energy.
He saw movement. This time it appeared and stopped, rising to its height less than thirty metres away: a human shape, clothed in shadow.
For no apparent reason, the Imperial scripture ‘ and they shall know no fear’ scrolled through his head. Sabtah snorted.
With that, he charged through the stalactite forest. His plate‐cased shoulders splintered the drip‐rock to powder upon impact. He ploughed through it unarrested, a storm of fragmented stone churned in his wake. Baring fangs through his wild beard, Sabtah howled with joyous aggression. His arms yearned to uncoil and channel all of his strength, all of his momentum and all of his rage through the edge of his axe and into the flesh of his foe.
‘Sabtah.Stop!’
Sabtah did not hear anything except the red wash of fury in his ears. He looped the axe in a hammer‐thrower’s arc, tearing down four or five stalactites in one sweep. The black shadow flickered like a disrupted pict‐feed.
‘Sabtah!’
Unresponsive, Sabtah drew the axe far back for another swing.
‘Muhr is going to kill you. Sabtah! You have to listen to me.’
The axe froze.
Finally, a hint of recognition creased Sabtah’s furrowed, animalistic brow. The feral snarl softened behind the beard. The killing rage ebbed. Sabtah lowered his axe cautiously, peering into the dark.
‘Nabonidus?’
A figure walked towards the glow‐lights of the ground fungus. It was indeed Nabonidus
– chosen of Muhr’s coven. The witch‐surgeon had shed his power armour and was clad in a hauberk of supple chainmail. His face was painted white and his eyes daubed with ash. The sorcerer clicked his fingers and the shadowy apparition standing before Sabtah dissipated.
Sabtah cursed. ‘I could have killed you, Nabonidus. What did you think you were doing?’
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Nabonidus pushed a finger to his lips. ‘Hush, Sabtah. Please lower your voice.’ He ducked his head and peered about the cavern. Finally satisfied that they were alone, Nabonidus whispered, ‘I lured you here for a reason.’
Sabtah raised his axe cautiously. Nabonidus was a sorcerer. There was an innate distrust between the coven and their warrior brethren. He watched the witch’s hands carefully.
‘I lured you here because that is the only way it would be safe. I can’t be seen talking to you, Sabtah. It’s not safe.’
‘Safe for who?’ Sabtah asked.
Nabonidus’s reply was tinged with a genuine terror. ‘For me,’ he admitted.
Still unconvinced, Sabtah remained silent. ‘I will give you one chance to explain yourself.’
‘Muhr is behind this. The Chapter rift. It is part of his power game. The troubles on Hauts Bassiq are his doing. It will cause a Chapter war from which Muhr is positioned to emerge the victor.’
Sabtah shrugged. ‘I suspected this. But he has nothing I cannot deal with.’
Nabonidus shook his head. ‘It is more than Muhr. There is another force at play here, more powerful than Muhr. There is some sort of pact between them.’
‘Who is that patron?’
Nabonidus took a step back. ‘I don’t know, Sabtah. All I know is that Muhr is a mere minion. This patron is destroying Hauts Bassiq, and in return for Muhr’s role, this patron is willing to aid Muhr in his ascension to power. That’s all I know.’
‘Why are you telling me this, witch?’
‘Because I am frightened, Sabtah. I am seven hundred years old and I am frightened, not for myself but for the Chapter. I do not want a Chapter war. It’s your duty now, Sabtah. You are his only obstacle.’
The blood wind led them north‐east, trembling across the lowlands. It led them to a ravine, a shallow cleft that revealed the headframe of an ancient mine. It