The Emperor's Legion (Watchers of the Throne #1) - Chris Wraight Page 0,95

the existence of the Grey Knights was an open secret to the High Lords and their close counsellors, as was the purpose of such bodies as the Ordo Malleus and the Deathwatch. We knew the words, we knew the terms.

But it is one thing to have a partial understanding of the nature of our foes, and it is one thing to read half-garbled accounts of strange doings on the other side of the galaxy and speculate on what they might mean, but it is another to see with one’s own eyes the full unmediated horror of reality.

Looking out that night on the battle for the Lion’s Gate, I could appreciate the wisdom of those who had proscribed even the very mention of the diabolic from our waking lives. They were cautious, those early drafters of the great law, and they were sensible. They knew that only a very few could be trusted with such truths, that most were not strong enough. I had never doubted that wisdom, and so had never truly abused my office to delve into matters that were not within my limited remit.

As I watched then, I realised I was weeping. I was crying uncontrollably, racked with a terrible fear and a horror that clutched at my bones and chilled them to ice. I was so far from it all, high up in the most secure pinnacles of the Senatorum Imperialis, surrounded by Palatine Sentinels and accompanied by Jek, and still the sight overcame me entirely. I wanted to pull away, to turn from it and flee deep into the vaults beneath. If I had given in then, I might have tried to burrow my way down to the Throneroom itself, to fall prostrate before the only one of our race who had ever seriously stood up to the nightmares of eternity.

Somehow, I forced myself to stay. After all, what I witnessed then was being observed by millions of soldiers on the walls and by thousands of appalled scholars in their great towers. The conflagration could be seen for miles. We saw the clouds break with deluges of bloody rain. We saw the sky crack and the flames shoot up from the earth. We saw those flames twist and grow and spew forth creatures of such dazzling maleficence that the only response was to scream out, or cower down out of view, or remain rooted in disbelief and crippling fear.

That was the moment when the old precept changed. We could no longer pretend, and we could no longer hide. Terra was not like those other worlds – its billions were not easily erased from history, and if we had slaughtered all those who saw the daemons cavort on that night we would have had an empty Palace and a silent Council chamber.

I knew I would only be a spectator, but I felt it important that someone tried to remember what happened, and that we did not leave the record of it to the warriors we had built to be capable of fighting such monsters. All of them – the Custodians, the Space Marines, the Sisters of Silence – had been hollowed out to make them stronger. They were no longer truly human, any of them, and such was their sacrifice – they were both better and worse than we were, and I would be damned if they and only they became the arbiters of history in this, the Imperium made to shelter humanity.

By the time I reached my vantage, the battle was already at its peak. I witnessed Valoris lead his columns into the very heart of the heaving mass of invaders. They poured out of the Lion’s Gate before spreading into hundreds of tiny points of light, mingling with the oncoming cohorts like liquid. I refused the offer of a visual augmenter, knowing that close-up images might haunt me forever, and did my best to watch without losing control of my faculties.

For a long time, it seemed to me, the battle was horribly poised. The defence lasers on the walls laid down such a blistering curtain of fire that it made my eyes stream just to witness it, and we sent flight after flight of gunships strafing the enemy ranks, but the only truly effective counter-attack came from those warriors on the ground who could bring their ancient weaponry to bear up close.

The worst to witness were the greatest of the daemons, those mighty roaring creatures of flame that strode across the battlefield like flesh-bound towers.