The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,103
heart of the Segmentum Solar, one of the many hundreds that comprised the productive centre of the Imperium. It raised Militarum regiments and supported a range of sub-Mechanicus-grade manufactures, as well as being a minor pilgrimage centre for the adherents of the Cult of Saint Eutrosius. I felt it politic not to point this out, though. I doubt it would have improved things.
I drew closer to her. Something about the map she was looking at disturbed me. The script was written in an ancient dialect, one that I recognised from my studies in the forbidden archives.
Where did you obtain this? I signed.
She looked up at me. You can read it?
I took a closer look. The more I read, the more concerned I became. Over the centuries, my scholarship had encompassed a wide range of theological subjects. I had become versed in many languages now forgotten by the wider Imperium. Some of them, I suspect, were spoken nowhere save those places only we and our ancient enemies could still go.
‘This is a tongue of Lost Cthonia,’ I said out loud. ‘A dialect that had died out long before that world was destroyed. It is the gravest heresy even to possess such a thing. If the Inquisition knew you had it–’
What does it mean?
My eyes passed over the swirls, running down arcane patterns that eluded sense. It was a representation of the warp, that was plain enough, although I had always believed such things were of limited use – the empyrean changed all the time, mutating itself and twisting into new forms. A fixed diagram would only be of service at a specific moment, and to be able to predict the warp’s future form was beyond even the greatest of our prognosticators.
Some aspects, though, I could decipher. Star systems were marked in Cthonian script, given figurative names that I could deduce from my knowledge of the stellar cartography around the Sol region. The more I looked, the more became evident.
This is an invasion scheme, I signed, switching again to Aleya’s mode of discourse. Centred on Terra, marking eight cardinal conduits through which a fleet could pass. Here are the worlds, all within a single warp stage, all sitting at the mouths of secure ether channels.
Aleya had lost her earlier irritation, and now looked at her map with hungry eyes. S– thought it must be something like that, she signed, using a name-form I didn’t recognise, but he couldn’t read it. Can it be used?
I committed the schema to memory. Even as I worked, I was contemplating what must be done with it. If accurate, this was of the highest value, and notice should be sent to the High Lords without delay.
Where did you get it? I signed.
I broke up a cabal. The Circlet, they were called. The last thing I did before the galaxy began to break. She looked up at me. The Black Legion were on their heels. They were involved in this thing, working through mortal cults across void-stations.
It must be taken to the Council, then. If an attack is planned–
She glared at me. I suffered to retrieve this. My convent suffered – we were being picked off. If you know where these places are, we go there now. We burn them before they burn us.
She was utterly serious. The muster of null-maidens was only just complete. The attack on the Lion’s Gate had only just been seen off. Our forces were in disarray and gathering significant numbers for a fresh assault on such flimsy grounds would be difficult, probably impossible.
But I could not ignore the threat. Aleya was not wrong about what she had – this was surely part of the same grand assault, a fragment of the same strategy that had conspired to fracture the skein of the warp and silence the beacon of the Emperor. Our enemies knew we were half-blind and reeling, and so they would strike close, and strike soon. If this truly were evidence of where they would make their first move, then it needed to be used.
She noticed my hesitation, though. That was the most legitimate of the many criticisms that we endured in the years to come – that our long and patient vigil had made us too cautious, too bound to old rites and unable to react decisively when the need arose.
You say you owe a debt to me, she signed, rapidly and forcefully. Discharge it, then. Show me how to find these places and take me there.