The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,21

and so we have literally hundreds of square kilometres in which to stage our exercises. If I had let the creature escape the hunt, it would have been a mark of shame against my record, but several hundred gun-servitors would have annihilated him before he could have broken the cordon we had set.

And, of course, not one of them has ever escaped my hunt. I say that not to boast, but to demonstrate both the wisdom and the necessity of these exercises. We must fight real enemies, in the real environment we are pledged to guard. They change, as the corrupting years work their spell, and so must we.

That leaves the question of how he came to be here at all. Remember, I told you that we are not idle. We have our ships, and we have knowledge of many gates into the Outside, and we have whole corps devoted to the recovery of suitable subjects. As for the particular place this one was taken, that shall of course remain undisclosed.

I shook the blood from Gnosis’ blade, and withdrew from the site of the kill. As I did so, I suddenly sensed that I was not alone. I turned, and saw the approaching dark-gold profile of Navradaran of the Ephoroi.

I smiled. ‘Were you close behind the whole time?’ I asked.

‘Just to observe,’ he replied.

Navradaran’s voice was far lower than mine, a bass rumble that seemed to swell up from within the heart of his armour.

‘He got too far,’ I said.

‘Only judged against the standard of perfection,’ he said.

‘What other standard is there?’

‘Come beyond the walls with me one day,’ he said. ‘I will show you.’

We walked together. Lingering close to the corrupted corpse was distasteful, and I could already hear the clatter and rumble of the approaching disposal teams.

‘Then what brings you inside, brother?’ I asked.

‘Dreams,’ he said.

I stopped walking. The word alone was enough to halt me.

Dreams do not mean the same to us as they do to others. In ordinary life, we do not dream at all. If I ever dreamed as a child, I have forgotten it. Something in our minds is changed by what we become, and whatever purpose dreaming has for the mortal psyche is made redundant by our alteration.

But there are exceptions. Legendary ones. They are spoken of carefully, reverently, for it was in the form of dreams, long ago, that His will was made most clearly manifest to us. There are accounts, written in arcane script and buried in the deepest vaults of the Inner Palace, that tell of detailed testimony from the oldest of our order, now all long dead. The greatest of us all – Diocletian Exemplar, Thanassar, even Valdor himself – were said to have had dreams in which knowledge was given.

There have not been dreams for millennia. Many, including myself, had begun to doubt that they would ever come again.

‘What did they tell you?’ I asked, eagerly.

‘The dreams were not mine. I have been occupied with lesser things – witches, xenos and their hunters. They were Heracleon’s. He wished to speak with me about them.’

The tribune Heracleon was still within the inner sanctum, fully occupied with the hieratic duties that were the most sacred calling for us all.

‘And what did he dream of?’ I pressed. I found myself burning to know, with the kind of almost juvenile curiosity that should have been driven out of me a long time ago.

‘You have been a fine shield-captain, Valerian,’ Navradaran said, starting to walk again. ‘You must have considered where your fate would lead you.’

‘I serve at His will,’ I said, following close behind.

‘No one doubts it. But this is a time of change – you see that more clearly on the other side.’

‘You speak in riddles.’

Navradaran laughed. ‘You wish for it plainly? Heracleon dreamed of a name. Your name. The Hataeron Guard are depleted, and he has taken this as a sign. Having spoken to him myself, I am in agreement.’

The words made my pulse rate pick up. The Companions were never more than three hundred strong. It was the highest ­honour to be chosen for duty within that brotherhood. There would be sacrifice, of course – I would have to leave my precious books behind – but that counted as nothing besides the opportunity to serve in the most profound way imaginable.

I hardly knew what to say. Only a short time ago I had been dealing with matters of political protocol with short-lived mortal scuttlers of the High Lords’ hierarchy.