The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,16
to a single goal – to place the issue of Dissolution before the Twelve, and get them to meet to consider it. At the start, I had done so out of a sense of duty to Kerapliades; as I had learned more, and spoken to those like Harster, I had come to see it as the only tasking that made any sense at all. And more than this – I wanted it to succeed.
Remember this: history records the warriors and the sword-bearers, but there were always those who did what was necessary to get them to battle. That was my role now, the one contribution I could make.
‘My mind is sluggish,’ I said, making my way up to my strategium platform – a hexagonal plane of rippled marble overlooking the great expanse of workers, studded with a mighty polished stone table and encircled with floating picter lenses and hololith casters. ‘I need to set things in their right place.’
Jek joined me at the table’s edge. I summoned a read-out of our running tactical situation, and lithcasts flickered into translucent life around me.
Every member of the Council had an entry there, scored in vivid red runes. I had a team attached to each one, shadowing their movements and reporting on their conversations. It would have come as little surprise to them to know that their inner courts were infiltrated by my spies, for no doubt my own organisation was similarly riddled, but my people were better.
I looked over the data. Despite everything, all the entreaties and the quiet bribes and the appeals to reason, the matter remained poised. The structure of the Council had been designed to encourage consensus. It was twelve-strong, making it hard to pass contentious acts, for an even vote ensured that the proposal remained unacted. Any member could choose to support, reject or abstain.
At present, we knew that Dissolution had the firm support of five members of the Council: Kleopatra Arx, the Inquisitorial Representative; Uila Lamma, the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigator Houses; Kania Dhanda, the Speaker of the Chartists Captains; Merelda Pereth, the Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy; and the originator of it all, Kerapliades. We also knew that five members would vote against: Oud Oudia Raskian of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Irthu Haemotalion, the Master of the Administratum and the primus inter pares of the Council; Baldo Slyst, the Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum; Aveliza Drachmar, the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites; and Leops Franck, the Master of the Astronomican.
So then, five for, five against. Our efforts over the past weeks had been directed to the sole undecided member – Fadix, the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum. The assassins often abstained from votes, since their interests were generally served no matter what policies were enacted by their masters. Fadix had always been an archetypal grand master – swathed in layers of protection, his domain the hardest of all to penetrate, and alongside Arx the most perilous to cross. We had tried carefully, doing what we could to make the case and secure some kind of indication of preference. If he opted to oppose, then all was lost – the vote could not be passed. If he opted to support, then things became easier – the seat vacated by Brach could remain unfilled and the vote would still be carried. That would mean our attempts to make contact with the Captain-General became less pressing, something that I would have welcomed, for I was still no closer to gaining an audience there.
‘Any news from the Grand Master?’ I asked, noting that we hadn’t had a communication from our agent for some time.
Jek gave me an apologetic look, and handed me a small casket.
I opened it, to find a comm-bead, speckled with blood, sitting on a bed of crumpled silk. I didn’t need to activate it to know that it was one of ours. The silk was Fadix’s signature – they said that every kill he made was left with a ribbon of it somewhere close by.
I sighed deeply. I had known our agent there – a good and brave woman who had operated undetected for a long time.
‘So that’s that, then,’ I said, deflated.
‘Not quite,’ said Jek, motioning for me to close the lid of the casket. As I did so, I noticed the inscription, written in one of the Council’s many internal ciphers, inlaid black on black and almost undetectable.