The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,7
to misunderstand the precipice on which we teeter.
Without Him, we are lost. Everything is lost. Our only salvation is through the interpretation of His Will, and as a consequence of our failure we must divine this much as a blind man might divine the pattern of marks on an unseen page.
And, in any case, I have never had the luxury of an indulgent life. For a long time now the walls we guard have been crumbling. Enemies assail us from every quarter, striking even at the heart of the most heavily guarded citadel in the Imperium of Man, forcing us to become what we were never intended to be – pure vengeance, pure defiance.
In that time I took up my spear, and found a different artistry there, but those were not the first battles we fought. They took place within the walls, and were conducted with our own kind amid the very Palace where He yet dwelt, dormant in His deathless vigil. I did not know it then, back before the skies were cleaved and the foundations of all creation were rocked, but it began at that moment, with the arrival of a mortal man to the halls of the undying.
He was overweight, with a wry face and sparse curls of age-whitened hair. He carried himself poorly, almost apologetically, as if he were somehow surprised to be instantiated at all. His dress, however, was far from modest – a thick robe of purple overlaid with a chasuble of gold. He bore icons of the High Council, the double-headed aquila surmounted by the skull-within-halo.
I knew his name, but had never met him in person before. That was not especially unusual – even the senior staff of the Administratum ran into many tens of thousands, though this one was more influential than most.
Out of long habit, virtually unconsciously, I reached a judgement on the fastest method of killing him. I found the optimal results – less than a microsecond of effort required – slightly amusing.
‘Chancellor Tieron,’ I said.
I did not bow. There are some who see this absence of traditional courtesy as arrogance, but in truth we only bow to the Master of Mankind, for to do otherwise would be the most profound disrespect. I attempted to be non-threatening, however, and extended my hand to usher him into my private chambers.
‘Shield-captain,’ Tieron said, bowing conventionally and going inside.
I was not wearing armour, only the simple black robes of my order. Even so, I was over a third taller than Tieron and far more heavily built. My rooms were no doubt sparser than he was used to, being un-dressed stone and solely candlelit. The only relief from the austere lines came from my piles of hidebound books, some surrounded by glittering stasis fields to preserve the fragile contents.
‘I’m grateful for this audience,’ the man said, settling into the chair I had selected for him. I took my place opposite. I would have preferred to stand, but did what I could to make things less awkward for him.
‘There is nothing to be grateful for,’ I said. ‘The chancellor of the Senatorum Imperialis is welcome here at any time. Your burdens must be heavy.’
He smiled a dry smile. ‘Nothing in comparison to yours,’ he said. ‘I’ll not detain you longer than necessary – I request an audience with the Captain-General. I’m aware it’s difficult, but I’m acting on behalf of the Council. It’s been hard to know who to approach, as I was informed that both tribunes are indisposed, so – I’ll say it again – I’m grateful for you making the time.’
Tieron was correct – both tribunes were indisposed. Heracleon was performing ritual duties in his capacity as master of the Hataeron Guard, the Companions of the Emperor, and would not have responded to a summons from anyone. Italeo, his counterpart, was engaged in holy warfare and was similarly impossible to reach for all but the most vital of causes. The chancellor, I had been told by my amanuensis beforehand, had been prepared for the first circumstance, but not the latter.
Yes, the Custodians fight. Yes, we have been doing so for millennia. How else could it be that our fellowship remains prepared? Only the nature and the parameters of our warfare were at issue in those days of transition, not the essential matter of it.
‘The Captain-General is aware of the situation within the Council,’ I said.
‘It’s a delicate stage,’ Tieron said. ‘Understand me, I don’t act on behalf of any faction, but I’m beholden