The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,109
she was thinking.
Maintain course and speed, I signed to the pilot.
The destroyer fired up its engines and began to glide towards us. I saw its gunnery panels lever open, and detected seven more enforcer gunships enter the vicinity of our sensors.
We had seconds before those hails turned into shells. Reva looked at me again. I began to speculate on whether this would be the shortest raid in Imperial history, calculating whether we could boost our way to the Cadamara before we were hemmed in and turned into atoms.
Just then, though, something much bigger swam into our visual range – a ship of such outrageous, vulgar ostentation that it could only originate from the Adeptus Custodes. It was arrayed like a land-based fortress, piled with crenellations and outsized thruster housings and glinting with dirty gold.
Valerian’s voice crackled over the comm.
‘Recommend coming aboard with all haste, Sister,’ he said. ‘They won’t fire on us yet, but we do not have forever.’
We guided the lander into the voidship’s open hangar, slipping under a lintel of heavy brass. Every surface of that ship was ornate and gilded, broadcasting the majesty and heritage of its occupants. It was huge too, covered in weaponry the like of which I had never seen before, and which I guessed dated back a long way. That ship might have been the oldest thing in orbit, though it must have been among the least powerful of the Adeptus Custodes’ formidable arsenal.
Valerian met us at the hangar, clad in full armour and accompanied by nine of his brothers. It was a paltry band in terms of numbers, but in truth more than I had expected.
‘The sodality of the Palaiologian Chamber,’ he announced. ‘My brothers of war. They have vowed to aid me.’
I bowed to them, unsure what that meant. Had they been ordered to accompany us? Or did they choose to follow their shield-captain? Surely it was the latter, for this went against everything they had sworn to uphold. I wondered what he had said to convince them.
Ten, I signed, almost without thinking.
Valerian smiled. ‘It will be enough.’
In anyone else, even a Space Marine, I would have called that arrogance; with him, it was never possible to be sure.
I felt the ship’s walls rumble as the plasma drives kicked in. We began to move, heading towards the inner core of the vessel.
‘This is the Chelandion,’ Valerian told me. ‘A ship under my authority. Not the greatest in armament, but it will serve to get us there. We have the service of three Navigators, and they understand the risks while the beacon remains silent.’
Have you studied the map further? I signed, knowing that there was little I could do to decipher it. I was reliant upon him to dictate our course, given that of all of us only he understood the script and could make the link to the real planetary systems.
‘Vorlese is closest,’ he said, reaching the blast doors and opening them on to a bright-lit corridor beyond. ‘I consulted the almanacs, and engaged the Tarot for guidance. It is a well-defended world, the home of three regiments and a Naval battle group. It may stand yet, and if so we will aid those who yet resist the enemy.’
And if it’s fallen already?
‘Then we will die, extracting what cost we can before they move closer to the Throne.’
How far, then? I signed, anxious to get into the warp. Now that we had launched this thing, I would not be at ease until we reached our destination.
‘We still have to clear orbit, and that will not be easy, even for us.’ He gave me a tolerant look, one that spoke of forbearance. Naturally enough, I found that infuriating. ‘But we will achieve it, Sister. And after that, we are in the hands of fate.’
Tieron
I did what I could to aid them. I called in a few favours from those I could still trust – a dwindling band by then – and prevailed on High Lord Pereth to look the other way as they boosted clear of Terra’s clogged local space. Jek was as diligent as ever, working furiously behind the scenes both to hide our involvement and to ensure that the right palms were greased. Our union of convenience, which had originated on a professional basis, then deepened through a mutual terror, had now become something more profound. We were certainly no longer master and adjutant. Perhaps right and left hand would have captured it more accurately.