and began to think. Muhr, the dark eldar and a cult of Nurgle were in allegiance; they were somehow the source of strife on Hauts Bassiq.
‘What did the dark eldar have to gain?’
‘As I said. We took slaves. We are not a large kabal. We only sealed our part of the deal in disposing of Gammadin. Hauts Bassiq means nothing to us, except for raiding rights granted by the Plague Marines.’
‘Rights. They have no rights.’
‘They say Hauts Bassiq is their world.’
‘You must have contact with them then. Where are they?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where?’ Barsabbas said. He approached Sindul and placed the cold steel of the syringe against the nape of his neck.
He felt Sindul’s shoulders slump and his body sag in defeat. ‘North. They are gathering for a great war to the north. The native mon‐keigh prepare for war against the decaying ones.’
War. That was exactly what Barsabbas needed to hear. War meant the forces of Nurgle would amass. It was not much, but it was better than nothing.
‘Good. You will take me there.’ With that, Barsabbas hauled on his captive’s neck chain, dragging him up like a disobedient dog. ‘We go north.’
THE SHAME OF defeat was a heavy mantle and one that Barsabbas could not shake off. He stood in the heat but did not seek shelter. He did not deserve it. The discomfort reminded him of his mistake. Everything he did reminded him of his mistake.
The captive was staked down a distance away, under the shade of a lean‐to, a blanket that was secured to a carriage window and pegged to the dirt. As much as Barsabbas would have preferred staking him out under the sun, for now he needed the creature alive. His 79
leash chain was bound to a carriage wheel and his head was secured with yet more chain.
Every so often, the captive tested his patience with whimpers of pain.
Barsabbas ignored the dark eldar’s pleas and drew a long‐distance voxsponder, a small, hand‐cranked device, from a flak pouch on his waist. He only logged several words into the machine, for the micro‐device could not hold much in its memory and the transmission had to travel far.
‘The soldiery of Nurgle has taken Hauts Bassiq, and Muhr has sold us to them. Muhr has sold Bassiq to them. He has betrayed us.’
It was a simple message. There could be no mistaking it. Even in his desperate state, Barsabbas remembered to encrypt the message for Sabtah only. He could not be sure that any other Blood Gorgon could be trusted.
By nightfall, the tiny voxsponder had received a return transmission from the orbiting Chapter hulk. The distance it travelled had been great and interference had robbed the spoken message of much clarity. Through the garbled static, Barsabbas could make out the words.
‘Return to dropsite. Return to Chapter. Immediate.’
The vox message had been sealed with Sabtah’s personal decryption code.
Barsabbas stared at the voxsponder for a while before he crushed the device in his palm.
80
CHAPTER TEN
BEHIND THE MOON of Hauts Bassiq, the Cauldron Born remained a lurker, its leviathan bulk anchored behind the rock’s spheric shadow. The hour was past end‐night and the halls were still but for the tread of sentries. Night menials emerged to prepare the morning gruel and the ship’s sleepless maintenance crews worked softly, but it did not dispel the quiet. All the blood brethren had retired for their nightly circadian rest, allowing their bodies to knit and heal for another day’s training. All, except a few.
Sabtah awaited the reports of his deployment, poised with the apprehension of a predator in hiding. He knew the Dreadclaws had missed their dropsites by a wide margin.
He knew the five squads had engaged enemy combatants: plague victims as the reports confirmed. But then he heard nothing. Sabtah began to fear the worst until Captain Hazareth requested his presence.
In one of the many exterior citadels that studded the ship’s upper deck, Hazareth had taken charge of the foreship’s amplified vox‐transmitter. It was a frontier‐grade machine, capable of burst transmissions to surrounding, intra‐system receivers.
‘We have a long‐burst data receipt from Hauts Bassiq, Squad Besheba. It is coded urgent and encrypted to you only, Brother‐Master,’ Hazareth said, keying the console.
Sabtah ungloved his hand and placed his palm flat across the vox’s mainframe panel.
There was a compliant click as the vox‐transmitter accepted Sabtah’s genecode and began to unscramble the data burst.
‘I will take my leave,’ Hazareth said, bowing.
‘No, captain. You can stay for this,’ Sabtah said as he adjusted the volume dial on the transmitter. Trust