The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,17

though?’ asked Jek, warily.

‘He doesn’t take kindly to interference, I’d say.’

‘Or he means to end it for good.’

It would be a bold move, for a Council member to extinguish one of its more prominent servants, but not impossible. They were beholden to no one but themselves, and I had always known I was eminently replaceable.

‘Perhaps we’ve pushed things too far,’ I murmured.

Jek hesitated before replying. She was the most loyal of my many aides-de-camp, and yet now there was the slightest hint of reproach.

‘Forgive me, lord, if I don’t fully understand it,’ she said. ‘There have been many proposals, and yet with this one…’

I knew what she was trying to say. It was a mystery to me too, why this one idea had captured my attention so completely. I had built a career on playing the odds, remaining allies with all, never letting a single issue derail me from the greater goal of efficiency and self-preservation.

If she had pressed me, I do not know what I could have told her. I didn’t even fully understand the deeper legal aspects of Dissolution, which in its fullest sense was a whole range of measures involving the repeal of some of the earliest acts of the Lex Imperialis as laid down by the first Lord Commander. In practice, though, we all knew what it truly meant – the end of the standing injunction that tied the Adeptus Custodes to Terra – although this had never been something that had taxed me, not until now.

Were the Custodians sorcerers, I wondered? Could Valerian have done something to my mind? Could Kerapliades have done?

I leaned on the desk. I probably looked tired.

‘You do not have to go,’ Jek said, concerned for me.

‘No, I don’t,’ I said.

Then she smiled. ‘But you will.’

‘Of course.’

She reached out and placed her hand over mine. I couldn’t help but notice how young it was, next to my wrinkled, many-times-rejuved flesh.

‘He would not dare to end you,’ she said.

That was a kind thing to say, and perhaps she even believed it. I, though, knew better how the man worked. I was getting in too deep, as if past sins were catching up with me.

‘I guess we’ll find out,’ I said, pulling my hand away.

I will not deny it – I was discomforted. My nerves were weakened by the heavy burden of care, and the sense of things running beyond our ability to control them never went away.

But I got in the shuttle, gave directions to the pilot, and did what I had to. As we took off from the high spire of my domain, I saw the cityscape of Terra run away before us, crumbling and magnificent, grey under a darkening sky. Some way to the north was the mountain-face of the Sanctum Imperialis itself, glowering like a dormant volcano. The urban tower-mass stretched off in every direction, tangled and overbearing. I considered this my natural habitat, though I had always understood its danger. Harster had been right in one sense – this was a warzone, albeit one where the killing happened silently.

Fadix’s realm was a long transit south of the holy apex, lodged up against the inner sweep of the walls themselves. A neophyte would never have known that the place housed what it did – its facade looked no different from one of a thousand Ecclesiarchy temples, blackened by old soot and bedecked with dolorous angels on pediments of granite. Perhaps it was a little darker than the rest, a little more solidly made. For some reason its lintels were dotted with psy-ravens, dozens of them, staring out with black augur-eyes over the vistas of decay. No other aircraft went within a kilometre of that place, warned off either by reputation or silent intuition. For the last few moments of the journey my flyer was the only one in the air, a lonely speck against the giant terraces ahead.

We docked, and I was greeted in a cavernous, dusty hall by a single attendant. He wore a suit of black armour, close-fitting and tight-plated. He never spoke and I never saw his face, which was hidden behind an eyeless vox-distortion mask. If there were other menials or servitors present, they remained out of view. The whole place was cold, and heavy with grime and shadow. It was almost a parody of what the order stood for, perhaps put on as some kind of elaborate theatre for their own amusement. I was perfectly aware, for instance, that this was only one of