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Leviathan – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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CHAPTER ONE

THE FORTRESS CITY AT ZARAX
SAMNIUM PROVINCE, REGIUM

The tacticarium had been carved from burial chambers – chiselled from catacombs that snaked beneath the city. Auspex shrines and cogitators now obscured most of the walls, but in a few places fragments of sacred art were still visible. It mostly showed tree-roots, snaking down from the world’s surface and encasing its core, cradling it in a nest of tendrils. But the more recent additions depicted the Emperor, His sword trailing leaves rather than flames and His helmet sporting a crown of knotted branches.

The chamber, once a site of prayer and sacrifice, was now full of quiet industry and the cold flicker of viewscreens. Helots and comms officers were hunched over runeboards, dressed in smartly pressed uniforms rather than priestly robes. Mind-scrubbed servitors scuttled spider-like over logic engines, their faces grey and toothless and their limbs replaced with bionics.

Lieutenant Varus Castamon of the Ultramarines First Company was aware of the chamber’s history, but his attention was focused entirely on the present. He watched parchment spooling from one of the servitors, then carefully tore some off, processing the information with inhuman speed. The symbols conjured images of warships in his mind, behemoths knifing through the void towards the outermost reaches of the system, weapons batteries coming online. He thought of his brothers, tracing their fingers over strips of vellum fixed to their armour, reciting blood-sworn oaths. The thought quickened his pulse and he wished, more than anything, that he was with them on this mission.

Across from him, Brother-Librarian Zuthis Abarim stood at the centre of the room, watching images projected from a domed holo-table, while a third Ultramarine, Brother-Sergeant Tanaro, was standing nearer to Castamon. Scattered around the rest of the room, dwarfed by the three Ultramarines, were dozens of humans – senior Militarum officers and their aides, all wearing starched regimental finery. Further back, scurrying through the shadows, making adjustments to the stacks of logic engines, were red-robed adepts of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

‘How long?’ asked Castamon, dropping the parchment.

‘The strike force is approaching the edge of the system now, my lord,’ said a helot, staring at a viewscreen. ‘The deep-void returns are faint, but we can just about place the ships.’ He pointed out a cluster of faint dots hanging over the holo-table. ‘They’ll shortly be passing the moons of Krassus.’

Castamon gestured for the Militarum officers to come closer. They obeyed his silent command, some trying to catch his eye but most trying to avoid it. He tried to imagine how they saw him. As a monster, probably. He was huge, of course, like any Space Marine, three heads taller than a man. His skin was dark and weathered and his head was shaved, displaying three scars that raked down over his skull – fat, silvery gouges left by a predator’s claw. His blocky jaw was edged with a short silver beard, and his eyes were set deep under an anvil-hard brow. He did not seek to intimidate, but he was comfortable with the fact that he did. There were few who could hold his gaze for long.

He recognised all of the officers and they would have been surprised to know how well he knew the details of their military careers. Castamon was a warrior. He had no interest in politics, least of all the human variety. But he approached his posting on Regium with the same rationality and diligence he applied to everything else, remembering the words of his Lord Commander. Fortify your mind with study. Prepare for all outcomes. As he scrutinised the faces, he recalled facts gleaned from data crystals and genealogical tracts. Rather than soldiers he saw allegiances and rivalries, flaws and obsessions, debts and hopes – every shade of human frailty. They looked proud and determined, trying to hide how nervous they felt in his presence. They were good people. Whatever their failings, they had endured. They had survived long enough to see silver in their beards and feel aches in their bones. They were the exceptional few.

+The next couple of days will test them.+

The words formed telepathically in Castamon’s mind. There was a time when he would have found the experience distasteful, repulsive even, but the voice was familiar now, the voice of a friend. He looked over at Abarim. The Librarian’s suit of battleplate was even larger and more impressive than Castamon’s. His head was buried in a thick ceramite cowl and his armour was intricately inscribed, covered with runes and horned-skull designs. He stood statuelike, towering over the humans. The lower half of his face was hidden behind a rebreather, but his eyes were visible and they shone fiercely as they focused on Castamon. He was gripping a force axe larger than any of the humans, a magnificent relic, worked with the same runic designs as his armour and shimmering with the same light that spilled from his eyes. Castamon noticed, with faint amusement, that none of the Militarum officers were standing near him.

This should not take days, he thought. The ships are closing in on Krassus.

+Tyrus has yet to locate his prey. And while he hunts, discontent spreads. You saw the crowds outside. They are scared. And scared people make dangerous decisions. Governor Seroc is too tolerant.+

You know my thoughts on the matter. Seroc is a good man. These people can police their own homes.

+You confuse lambs with wolves. Seroc is not equal to the task. None of them are.+

They need answers, that is all.

+Answers only beg more questions.+

Abarim would not usually address him in such an abrupt manner. He sounded almost bitter. The Librarian had been in pain for over a week and, though Abarim would never admit it, Castamon suspected his pain was growing worse. Pain was rarely a consideration for an Adeptus Astartes warrior, but Castamon knew this was not a physical suffering. It was something beyond his understanding – something linked to Abarim’s esoteric skills. He needed to pursue the matter, but this was not the time. He wanted the soldiers out of his command bunker as quickly as possible.

He looked around the room. ‘Governor Seroc asked me to speak to you, but I will keep this brief. We all know why we are here. There is panic and hysteria on Regium. Nightmares are spilling into people’s waking hours. And there is a resurgence of the separatist threat, despite our labours in the spring. The separatists have a new creed, preaching of cataclysms and supernatural beings. But let me tell you this: there will be no cataclysm. There are no such supernatural beings. And the separatists are merely opportunists, seeking to regain a vestige of their former power. The cause of the nightmares is biological, not spiritual. It can be measured, combated and reversed. This planetwide hysteria stems from a foe that my battle-brothers and I have encountered before.’

‘People want to know why the Ultramarines are leaving Regium,’ said one of the officers, his tone brittle. ‘That’s one of the main catalysts of this current panic. Perhaps if we’d briefed people beforehand we could have allayed their fears.’

Castamon looked down at the man. ‘We are briefing people now.’ He pointed to the planet hovering in the air near Abarim, drawing their attention to a swirl of red light that was approaching it. ‘The anomaly you see near Krassus is not a natural phenomenon. Nor is it a warp storm. It is the remnants of a xenos fleet.’

Some of the officers frowned as they studied the shapes, while others whispered to their aides.

‘It is a fragment of an alien armada known as Hive Fleet Leviathan,’ Castamon continued. ‘It was first spotted several months ago, fleeing past the orbital shipyards of Hydraphur in the galactic north. The warships of the Navis Imperialis dealt with some of the aliens, but a few stragglers survived and fled south. We can only surmise what drove them this way, to the west. Perhaps they were savaged by another xenos fleet. Or by void-dwelling predators. Perhaps they were scattered many years ago by the emergence of the Great Rift. We may never know. But a few survivors are now skirting the outermost borders of this system.’

Some of the officers shifted position and others cleared their throats, about to ask questions, but Castamon raised his hand for silence.

‘The creatures belong to a recognised xenotype. The Great Devourer. Tyranids. Little is known of their origins, but our Chapter has waged war against them in other systems and I can tell you this: they have no connection to the forces seeking to overthrow the Emperor. The heretics who attacked us in the spring sought to breach the Sanctus Line because they wish to invade the Sol System. They sought a route to Terra. But the tyranids are different. They are driven only by senseless hunger. A strategic defensive measure such as the Sanctus Line is beyond their comprehension. Everything we know about them indicates that they are a species of purely bestial predators. They have no inkling of this planet’s tactical importance. However…’ He paused. ‘As they skirt the edge of this system, they will be drawn to Krassus.’ He nodded to the planet at the edge of the system. ‘A vast world, rich in biomass. A place where they could feed and reproduce. My Apothecary Biologis, an expert in the dark matter of xenos, believes they will be unable to resist it.’

He paused, looking round the room again, pleased to see the concentration on people’s faces. ‘Which presents us with an opportunity we cannot ignore. These abhorrent xenos cannot be allowed to taint our border with Segmentum Solar and, thanks to Krassus, we have a chance to stop them. We can prevent them advancing any further from the Galactic West. Krassus will be like a beacon to them. Their attention will be focused entirely on it. So, they will be slow to notice this.’

He pointed to another shape in the hololith – a cluster of blinking white arrowheads, heading towards Krassus. ‘At this very moment, my battle-brother Lieutenant Tyrus is leading a strike force to cut this canker from the void. I have assured my superiors that these stragglers will come no closer to Holy Terra. Tyrus is a warrior of great renown and he is accompanied by two-thirds of the Ultramarines stationed here on Regium.’

An elderly officer spoke up. ‘Which is exactly why people are panicking, my lord. Sending the majority of your Ultramarines off-world seems reckless. What if heretics attack us from the void again? The Sanctus Line is always a target. That’s why you’re here. If heretics know we’ve lost so many of our Ultramarines, they’ll see a chance to attack.’

Castamon nodded. ‘The same concern was voiced by Governor Seroc. My original plan was to lead my entire force to Krassus. But, as you have observed, Regium is always a potential target. So, after much thought, I decided to remain here with a third of my garrison. If there are any more acts of piracy or orbital strikes, we shall have no difficulty dealing with them. Strike Force Krassus will be heading back within a matter of days. The tyranids will be eliminated quickly and the full garrison will be restored here. I have assured Governor Seroc there will not be a prolonged engagement at the edge of the system.’

The elderly officer shook his head. ‘You were deployed here to protect Regium. And, as you said yourself, the aliens out near Krassus are few in number. Why did you have to send so many men?’

‘Why did you have to send any men?’ asked another officer. ‘Why not report the matter so it could be dealt with by someone else? From what you describe, the xenos threat is insignificant.’

‘Insignificant?’ Some of the soldiers paled as they heard the warning in Castamon’s tone. ‘You betray your ignorance.’ Images of bloodshed filled his mind. ‘I have seen worlds devoured by a single tyranid swarm. They do not threaten. They do not bargain. They have no interest in wealth or power. We are naught to them but meat. If I allow them to leave this system, they will spawn. They will thrive. And they will consume.’

His words were followed by a troubled silence. Then one of the officers spoke up, his expression rigid as he battled to meet Castamon’s gaze. ‘Governor Seroc sent us here to discuss the rioting and insurrection, but also the dreams and the madness. What does that have to do with aliens at the edge of the system?’

Castamon was impressed by the man’s nerve, but he replied in a tone that made it clear this was a briefing, not a debate. ‘My Apothecary Biologis has theorised that the tyranids are behind this psychosis. There is much he cannot explain, but his underlying logic is sound. I have seen this happen before. Whether it is intentional or not, the presence of tyranids in a system induces hysteria.’

The man looked incredulous. ‘People are burning down manufactories because of something that’s happening on the other side of the system?’

‘People are burning manufactories because, even from here, even from light years away, they feel the hunger of the Great Devourer.’ Castamon looked at the red lights, pulsing blood-like above the table. ‘They are unfathomable. They are your nightmares given form.’ He waved at the V-shaped group of arrowheads. ‘And we will grind them under our heel.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE FORTRESS CITY AT ZARAX
SAMNIUM PROVINCE, REGIUM

People swarmed into the Library of Carnus, trailing mud over the mosaic floor and creating a murmured chorus, hundreds of voices speaking quickly and quietly, echoing up through the vast hexagonal atrium. There was a confusing jumble of gaudy outfits and accents, but people were united by one thing: fear. They huddled in groups, talking in urgent whispers and casting wary glances. The larger the gathering grew, the more frantic the conversation; panic spread like a fever, growing with every whispered word.

Governor Seroc was seated high above the throng, on a balcony that jutted out between the uppermost tiers of seats. He was close enough to the domed ceiling to see brushstrokes in the frieze, tiny echoes of humanity preserved in the Emperor’s halo. He reached up into the air, letting his fingertips trace the shapes of the gold leaf, trying not to think about the weight of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders.

He was surrounded by serfs and aides and there was a huddle of priests sitting behind him, dressed in enough finery to shame the saints gliding overhead. He had never seen such an obscene display of wealth. Seroc guessed that just one of their trinkets would be worth enough to feed half of the population at his hive. The thought made his mood even darker. He turned to the senior priest. ‘Confessor Thurgau. You have been glaring at the proconsul since she arrived. And your anger has so far failed to conjure a divine intervention.’

The confessor’s face was transformed by a charming smile. He laughed cheerfully, despite the grim mood that had filled the library.

‘Vela Zalth adopted your creed, despite being old enough to be your grandmother,’ continued Seroc. ‘Your faith is now her faith. Her temples are now your temples. Your work is done.’

Thurgau loosened his grip on the ornate sceptre he was holding, placing it in his lap, still smiling. ‘The Emperor’s work is never done.’

Seroc studied the young priest. The man’s features were delicate and sharp, his skin so pale it was almost translucent. But his fragile appearance was deceptive. Since arriving on Regium he had transformed the populace, suppressing centuries of beliefs and transforming the local priesthood without a single drop of blood. He followed the direction of the priest’s gaze and studied the cause of his annoyance. ‘You’ll never stop religious types mutilating themselves. At least, not without undoing all your careful work.’ He looked down at the crowd. ‘Some knotted metal and wood. Some punctured skin. Does it matter?’

‘Governor Seroc, it does matter.’ Thurgau’s voice was not quite as smooth as usual. ‘They plant seeds under their skin. They think the God-Emperor’s blood is sap. These things are very relevant. Small deviations from doctrine lead to large deviations. It’s sacrilege. And dangerous.’

Seroc decided to let the matter drop. This was not the time to be seen arguing with a senior Adeptus Ministorum prelate. He looked down at the crowd and saw that Vela Zalth was looking back at him, whispering to a younger woman whose skin was caged by the same, tangled piercings that had so annoyed Thurgau. It was her protégé and successor, the consul called Damaris. The women nodded to him and Thurgau, then continued making their way through the smoke.

Vela Zalth muttered to herself as she barged through the crowd with her cane, making her way up the side of a raised dais at the centre of the room. ‘Why does everything require steps? Can’t these people build anything flat?’

Damaris was looking at the rows of books that lined the walls while the elderly magistrate, Urzun, watched her intently. Urzun was nearly as old as Vela, and she felt a wave of nausea every time she caught him looking at the younger woman. He was a craven-looking thing, with a tangled nest of white hair and sunken, staring eyes.

‘They put our songs in these,’ said Damaris, tapping a book.

Urzun nodded, his face contorted by an exaggerated expression of disapproval.

‘Who do?’ replied Vela.

‘The off-worlders. Their scribes print our songs in these books. The same songs we’re not allowed to sing. They steal music from mouths and pin it to a page.’

‘They’ve turned us into an exhibit,’ whispered Urzun, squeezing Damaris’ arm.

Every part of Vela was hurting, from her joints to her lungs. Even her scalp ached beneath her thinning hair. She usually found Damaris’ passion endearing, but today she had no patience for it. And Urzun’s lechery was grating on her. She replied with more force than she intended. ‘We’re alive. And we’re alive because of the off-worlders. What would have become of us if the Ultramarines hadn’t been sent to Regium? We can accept the loss of a few songs.’

Damaris glared at Vela. ‘Maybe you can forgive the off-worlders the theft of our songs, but can you forgive them for what they did on this, our most holy site? Why didn’t they build their fortress at Salamis Hive? That would have made more sense. But Confessor Thurgau insisted it was built here. Why did they have to tear down Aureus Nahor to build this ugly fortress? The largest shrine on the continent. Do you remember how she looked in spring? Leaves glinting like fire. And they bulldozed her without a thought.’

Urzun squeezed Damaris’ arm again. ‘I can still hear her roots, weeping under all this stone.’

Vela grunted in annoyance. The off-worlders had taught them many disturbing truths, including the real nature of the ‘trees’ they worshipped. ‘There are no roots. Not really. Not actual roots. There never were. We know that now. We can hate it, but we can’t unhear it.’ Vela felt a flash of grief as she considered everything that had been taken from them. ‘We have to move on. We have to accept the new ways.’

Damaris’ eyes glittered with anger. ‘The roots are there. We’ve seen them.’

‘Our dead are buried in them,’ whispered Urzun, staring intently at Damaris.

‘They were machines,’ snapped Vela. ‘All of them. The off-worlders showed us proof.’

Urzun ignored her, continuing to look at Damaris with a sympathetic grimace.

Vela jabbed someone’s leg with her cane as they finally reached the top of the dais. ‘This will do. If I go any further, I’ll have to kill someone.’ She glanced at Damaris. ‘We all know why Thurgau wanted the fortress built here. It was a statement of intent. We have to worship the God-Emperor on their terms now. And that would never have happened while we were praying to Aureus Nahor. We can argue over doctrine, but their God-Emperor is still the same god, Damaris. So we just have to adapt. Think of the alternatives. Think what happens on worlds where people refuse to adapt, where people cling to their old faith. People lose more than just songs, I can tell you that. We should count ourselves lucky.’

‘A thousand years of tradition crushed under rockcrete. Doesn’t feel very lucky to me. And we survived well enough before they–’

Her words were interrupted as the crowd surged. There were mutters of annoyance as soldiers took their place on the far side of the dais, forcing everyone else to take a step back. The soldiers stared the crowd down, chins raised, standing to attention, armour and weapons clattering. Their battle-worn green-and-drab uniforms made a sharp contrast to the finery on display around them. Over their battle fatigues they wore plates of scratched flak armour that were more appropriate for a trench than a gathering of nobles.

‘These are the ones you should be cursing.’ Vela nodded to two Cadian officers at the head of the squad. ‘Look at the arrogance. They strut about like they’re gods. But they’re not. They’re not like Lieutenant Castamon. They’re not Adeptus Astartes. They’re just normal people under that armour. But look how they lord it over us. And she’s the worst. The captain. You’d think she’s the one who saved us from heretics.’

Urzun lowered his voice. ‘I heard that she didn’t even return to her own home world to help protect it – that she did nothing when it fell.’

They all looked over at the captain. She was snapping orders at her second-in-command – a tall, haughty-looking sergeant with a ceremonial bugle at his belt. Captain Karpova was a sinewy knot of a woman. When she finished giving commands to the sergeant, she looked out at the crowd, glaring defiantly from beneath the peak of her cap. One of her eyes was dark and furious and the other was missing, replaced by a battered targeting scope. Her face was a wasteland of scar tissue, so brutalised it was hard to guess her age, but she was certainly younger than the sergeant.

‘Hard to believe she did nothing,’ muttered Damaris as she met the captain’s determined stare.

Vela grunted but found it hard to disagree.

Captain Karpova noticed the consuls gawking at her but chose to ignore them, glancing around at the panicked-looking crowd and then up at the tiered seating. She spotted the distant figure of Governor Seroc on the balcony. He was a heavy-set, bearded man who looked fiercely self-conscious. She saluted him and was pleased to see him nod in reply, and even more pleased when she realised who he was talking to. She knew Confessor Thurgau well, having been deployed to Regium with him only a few months after Castamon. Her conversations with Thurgau were one of the things that made her grateful she was on Regium. His unshakeable faith was an inspiration and it had renewed her own.

‘Sergeant Vollard,’ she said, addressing the officer at her side. ‘Status.’

She heard a crackle from the vox-link at his ear. He replied in his usual grandiose tones. ‘All squads are in position, captain. I also ordered Sergeant Yurek to position sentries at the main gates into the fortress.’

She nodded, looking around at the crowd of nobles, tribal leaders and priests. ‘The separatists would love this. Everyone who matters is cowering in this room and no one’s on guard. Doesn’t matter how impressive a fortress is if you leave the damned gates open. Keep a close watch on the locals. When these crowds disperse, I’m going to find Lieutenant Castamon, but let me know if you see anything suspicious.’

Vollard glanced at her. ‘Castamon?’

‘He’s here. I saw him when we arrived. He’s briefing Colonel Levizac and Major Lucanus right now, while I’m left in the dark. It’s beyond a joke. We’ve kicked our heels on Regium for too long. Something has to be done.’

‘With respect, captain, Regium’s the cornerstone of the entire Sanctus Line. Whatever duty we’re given here, I don’t think we need to see this as kicking our heels.’

‘We’re sidelined. Mopping up heretic cells is beneath us. This work could be done by planetary defence forces. Every day the war presses closer to Holy Terra, and we’re stuck here, reprimanding criminals.’

Vollard gave her one of his grandiose smiles. ‘Captain, Regium is–’

‘Regium’s important. I get it. I’m not a damned fool. But the Sanctus Line’s in no danger. Lieutenant Castamon has a large portion of the Ultramarines First Company under his command, and reserves from the Eighth and Ninth. And that’s to say nothing of the Regium Auxilia regiments he’s got scattered across the continent. No planet outside of the Sol System is this well defended. I have no idea who sent us here, but it was a slight. And now someone has engineered things so we’re here when the Ultramarines are briefing everyone else. I bet it was Colonel Levizac. Or Major Lucanus. Pompous, desk-bound oafs. They should spend less time denigrating Cadian regiments and more time getting their hands dirty. We’re wasted here. And that’s exactly what I’ll tell the lieutenant.’

She pictured Lieutenant Castamon and, to her annoyance, felt daunted by the prospect of approaching him. She had heard people describe Adeptus Astartes as beautiful, but she struggled to understand why. They were magnificent, of course, but there was something disturbing about those enlarged, almost-human features. As soon as she heard she was to be deployed on Regium, she had researched Lieutenant Castamon. He was a decorated veteran, like the rest of the Ultramarines First Company, famed for his intellect as much as his savagery. Surely he would see sense.

‘If Castamon’s the deep thinker everyone claims he is,’ she said, ‘he’ll see we’re too good for this. And the governor is hardly likely to argue with him.’ She nodded to a space in the crowd. ‘Come on. Seroc will be starting soon. I want to be close so I can corner him and find out where Lieutenant Castamon’s briefing is.’ She gave Vollard a warning glance. ‘And don’t get too comfortable. I can see you relaxing.’

Seroc nodded to people as he made his way down towards the dais, adjusting braids on his uniform, trying and failing to make them lie flat. ‘Throne,’ he muttered. ‘So many people. Half the planet.’ Noticing the finery on display, he dusted himself down and raised his chin, striving to look at ease. He was overweight but muscular, just able to pass for powerful rather than dissolute, an impression that was helped by the thick, coal-dark beard that reached down to his belt. He fussed at his collars, feeling stifled and uncomfortable in his starched dress coat.

‘They want answers,’ said his aide, a stocky, grim-faced woman called Lanek. She was dressed in a similar uniform to Seroc and looked equally unhappy about it.

‘No.’ Seroc glared at the politicians and grandees on the dais. ‘Not that way. Over here is fine. We’ll be near the door. I want to leave the moment this is done. We have work to do. I’m not getting trapped in here.’

The two of them made their way through the throng and Seroc kept his gaze fixed determinedly ahead, trying to avoid making eye contact. Officially, he was now superior to the high-born who were milling around him, but he still felt out of place. Most of these people had never worked a day in their life. They made flamboyant gestures with soft, elegant hands that made him conscious of how callused and blocky his own fingers were. ‘Here,’ he snapped, gesturing for Lanek and the other aides to follow him into a space. ‘This’ll do.’

Lanek stroked her lank, undercut hair, scowling, clearly infected by Seroc’s discomfort. ‘We could have stayed in Salamis. We didn’t have to leave the hive.’ She took out a lho-stick and offered it to him. ‘You didn’t have to come in person.’

He waved the lho-stick away. ‘Look at these people. They’re terrified. And I’ll not have Salamis grind to a halt. I refuse to miss a single shipment. These princelings can bitch and whine all they like but Salamis actually matters. They could lose a palace or two without noticing, but if we lose our manufactories the whole Sanctus Line suffers. Regium is the engine room of the whole damned show. How long would the Sanctus Line stand without fuel and ammunition? We’ve never missed a tithe quota. I’ll be damned if things are going to go wrong now I’m in charge.’

A merchant in a periwig managed to catch his eye and started to head over, but Seroc and Lanek glared at him until he veered off, pretending he was approaching someone else.

Seroc dusted down his jacket again. ‘How do I look?’ He glanced awkwardly at Lanek.

She picked mud from the frogging on his jacket. ‘Fine.’

He grunted, tugging at the cloth. ‘I look like an idiot.’

‘You’ll fit right in then.’

Seroc laughed, despite the seriousness of the occasion. Then he recovered his composure and made his way onto the dais. Most people bowed and a few even dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the floor, as if in the presence of the Emperor Himself. He growled in annoyance and waved them to their feet. Confessor Thurgau and the other priests flanked him, droning prayers and swinging censers, and people shuffled backwards as he approached the centre of the dais.

He waited for the murmurs to die down and allowed the quiet to ring out for a few moments. Then he pressed his fist across his chest and cried out, ‘For the Emperor!’ Even unamplified his voice boomed across the atrium.

There was a brief silence, then everyone in the crowd mirrored his pose and echoed his cry.

‘I know, for many of you, it’s been hard to reach this fortress,’ he said. ‘Some of you crossed half the province to be here. And I know you’re all concerned about what you have left behind, but once you’ve heard what I have to say, I hope you’ll feel able to return home. I know you’ve all been afflicted by these dreadful nightmares.’ He realised he was tripping over his words, so he paused to steady his nerves.

‘My lord,’ said a noble, seizing the chance to interrupt. He looked at Seroc with obvious disdain. ‘It’s more than just nightmares. The whole of the Vanand Peninsular is cut off. We have no safe route to Salamis Hive any more. We’ve lost dozens of caravans. There’s rioting right across the province and none of the roads are free from danger. Even getting here was almost impossible.’ As he spoke, and people nodded in agreement, the man’s voice grew in confidence. ‘We can’t bring you any fuel. And there’s trouble everywhere. Whole towns are burning. We can’t get any clear news of what’s going on, but there are terrible stories – bodies thrown on pyres, people dying in their hundreds.’

‘Shellib City is the same,’ said a woman on the opposite side of the atrium. ‘No one can get to the hive and there are fires burning day and night.’ She looked around. ‘Does anyone even know what the attacks are for? What do these separatists expect us to do? What do they actually want?’

A chorus of panicked voices erupted as people shouted over each other, relaying tales of violence and disorder. Then Seroc raised his hand for silence. Some people were so frantic that it took them a moment to notice the gesture, but soon the library was quiet again. Seroc studied the crowd and wondered how he had ended up in this situation. When the Ultramarines had landed on Regium, one of their first acts was to execute the presiding governor and dissolve his entire chain of command. Seroc had not been overly surprised. Regium’s rulers had been in thrall to criminals for decades. But he was surprised by what happened next. Lieutenant Castamon had informed him that the logisticars of the Adeptus Administratum had given him the job of governing Regium. At first, he had been horrified, but over the following months he had begun to relish the opportunity. He had spent his entire life covering for self-interested frauds. He soon realised that he could hardly be worse than the leaders who came before. And perhaps he could even be better. He had even begun to think of ways to improve the hive at Salamis. Which made him all the more determined not to let the place slide into anarchy. He thought back to his conversations with Lieutenant Castamon and tried to speak with the same calm and gravitas the Ultramarine always showed.

‘I know all about the problems you’re facing. I’m facing exactly the same at Salamis Hive. But I’m here to reassure you. I’ve spoken to Lieutenant Castamon of the Ultramarines and he explained the cause of this violence and madness. It’s a phenomenon he’s encountered before, triggered by a small fleet of alien ships that’s skirting the edge of our system.’

There was a chorus of shocked whispers, but he held up his hand for silence again. ‘The xenos are no threat to us here, but the Ultramarines have launched ships and will deal with the matter. The lieutenant assures me that once the xenos ships have been destroyed, our problems will start to ease. Normality will return. But in the meantime, we have to remain calm and maintain order. All Militarum regiments are being redeployed. The Ultramarines are briefing them now. They will restore order at all the large population centres while I focus on maintaining the output from Salamis Hive. To ensure we make our tithe commitments, Captain Karpova and her entire regiment will be travelling north with me when I return to the hive.’

Karpova stiffened and Seroc saw outrage flash in her eye, so he continued, remembering the advice Castamon had given him. ‘I have chosen Captain Karpova and her regiment, above all others, after being advised to do so by Lieutenant Castamon.’ The anger in Karpova’s eye was now mingled with curiosity. ‘Castamon has followed her career closely and assured me she is one of the Imperium’s most inspired soldiers.’ He cast his gaze around the room. ‘He told me that Captain Karpova was personally responsible for the success of the rearguard action on Cynus IV, and that it was her skill as a tactician that broke the siege on Sestos Prime.’ He knew that few of the people on Regium would have heard of these military engagements, but his words hit the desired target. The anger faded from Karpova’s eye and she somehow managed to stand even more erect. Had her skin been less scarred, he imagined she might now be blushing. Seroc was impressed. Castamon had known exactly the right way to bring her onside. ‘With Salamis back under control, we will quickly restore order in the rest of the province.’

He looked back out at the crowd. ‘Salamis has been mismanaged and neglected by my predecessors to such an extent that there is now a spiritual rot. Which is why these seditionists and lunatics have been able to create so many problems. Captain Karpova and her regiment can deal with the symptoms, but I need someone to dig down to the root of the problem. Which is why I shall also be taking Confessor Thurgau of the Adeptus Ministorum back to the hive with me. He and his priests will ensure that the faithless are returned to the fold. Faith and military might will hold the province together. But you must all play your part. Lieutenant Castamon assures me this will all be over soon.’ He raised his voice. ‘In the meantime, we must not allow sedition and heresy to take root.’

He was pleased, and not a little surprised, to see that most people were nodding, accepting his explanation. But he could also see that many of them were raising their hands, bursting with questions. For a moment, he considered staying where he was and doing his best to answer them, but then he realised there was a better option.

‘Confessor Thurgau,’ he said, turning to the priest. ‘I have other urgent matters to attend to, so this would be an opportune moment for you to explain your holy mission on Regium. There are many here who have not yet had the chance to hear you preach.’

Thurgau’s eyes blazed. He smoothed down his robes and bowed. ‘It would be an honour.’ Alarmed voices called out, but Thurgau strode confidently across the dais and raised his hands, bathing in the panic as if it were applause. ‘Children of the Throne, I bring you glorious news from the Emperor of Mankind.’

As Thurgau slipped seamlessly into a sermon, Seroc made his way down from the dais and headed towards the doors, scowling at anyone brave enough to try to address him.

‘You’ll make a politician yet,’ said Lanek as they hurried out of the library.

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published in Great Britain in 2023.
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