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malediction

C Z Dunn

Striding through the centre of the stateroom was a giant, power-armoured figure. Nearly three metres tall, the newcomer was clad in an ivory robe, the hood of which shrouded his face in shadow. By his side hung a bolt pistol and just visible beneath the folds of his garb was the scabbard of a great sword. Though his face and much of his armour were obscured by the fine, ancient cloth, his immense green shoulder pads were not. The right pad was adorned with a bas-relief of a long dagger wreathed by feathers while the other was emblazoned with a stylised ebony set of wings with a dagger set through them and marked him out as a member of one of the Emperor’s finest and most noble Space Marine Chapters: the Dark Angels.

Awestruck, the bowing crowd parted to give the demi-god free passage amongst them. Regan allowed himself to look up slightly and realised that the figure was heading directly for the stage. Sweating nervously, he cast his eyes towards the ground as the figure arrived before him. Without removing his hood, the Space Marine began to speak.

‘Regan Antigone, sole survivor of the Procel 1st Irregulars, Saviour of Amadis and Hero of the Imperium.’

Regan tilted his head upwards slightly, not daring to make eye contact with the goliath, but not wanting to show disrespect either.

‘Y… yes,’ he said, barely able to form the words.

The Dark Angel slid back his hood to reveal his features. A perfectly smooth scalp punctuated only by the occasional pock mark or scar seemed to shine in the artificial light of the stateroom and his stern, craggy face betrayed no emotion or feeling.

‘Stand,’ the Space Marine commanded.

‘I… I… What?’ Regan replied.

‘Do not make me say it again. Stand.’

With the aid of his cane Regan climbed to a standing position. He was conscious that every set of eyes in the room were fixated on him.

‘I am Master Tigrane of the Sixth Company of the Dark Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. Regan Antigone, sole survivor of the Procel 1st Irregulars, Saviour of Amadis and Hero of the Imperium, you do not bow before me.’

The green-armoured Space Marine put his hand to the hilt of his sword and drew it in a single fluid motion, pointing it at a forty-five degree angle towards the roof of the stateroom. The blade was made of a material so dark that it seemed to absorb the light in the room, casting Regan and the Angel of Death in a pale obsidian gloom.

A gasp went up from the crowd, Regan felt as if he was going to pass out. Another fluid movement and the Company Master was down on one knee, the point of the black sword now embedded in the floor, head bowed slightly in respect.

‘It is I who bow before you.’

‘It seems I’ve saved you again, Trooper Antigone.’

Once the commotion had died down, nervous gubernatorial officials had scrambled around to oblige their esteemed new arrival. Though none of the seats in the stateroom were strong enough to accommodate the bulk of a Space Marine, one enterprising young clerk had commandeered an ammo crate from the 14th Procel Mechanised and, after draping it with fine cloths, had allowed Company Master Tigrane to take his place beside Regan at the head of the feast.

‘Thank you. Although I’ve attended many functions like this down the years I never did grow accustomed to public speaking.’ The initial shock of the Space Marine’s arrival had subsided and Regan, although not entirely at ease, had composed himself enough to form complete sentences. ‘And it’s no longer “Trooper” Antigone; it’s Colonel Antigone now. An honorific title of course in recognition of my role in the defence but it seems I’m not the only one to have received a promotion since the last time we met, lord.’

‘Indeed. I haven’t been Sergeant Tigrane for many years now, since a few months after the Procel campaign in fact. A great honour but one tinged with much sadness that it took the death of Master Dumah for me to ascend to the rank.’

‘I’m sorry, lord. I didn’t mean–’

‘I am a soldier, Colonel Antigone,’ the Dark Angel interrupted. ‘I have been conditioned to make fear a stranger to me and I can withstand pain far beyond the threshold of most things that exist in the universe. While the death of my former master saddens me, I do not experience grief or emotional pain in the same way that you do. Death, be it my own or that of one of my battle-brothers, is merely an occupational hazard.’

A nervous serving girl approached Regan and the Space Marine and offered to pour them some wine. Tigrane waved her away impassively but Regan accepted a full cup and instantly gulped down half of it. While he had been in the presence of Space Marines before, he had never felt comfortable around them. While mere men, if they were blessed with good health and avoided a stint in the Imperial Guard, could live for the better part of a century, Space Marines could live for far longer. It was rumoured that the Adeptus Astartes were essentially immortal and that their lives could only be ended through violence. Quite apart from the fact that a Space Marine could kill a man with flick of his wrist or a spray of saliva, it was this reminder of his own mortality that was the root of his unease. More now than ever, in light of his circumstances.

‘But I am not here to talk about me. I want to know about you, Colonel Regan Antigone, Hero of the Imperium. Where did your life take you after I carried you from that trench all those years ago?’

‘You flatter me, lord. My life has not been that interesting at all in comparison to yours, I’m sure.’

‘Granted, but please, I insist.’

‘Very well. After that last time you came to visit me in the medicae, they operated on me to save my leg. Although the limb is still intact, they couldn’t retain much function and that’s why I carry this.’

Regan raised the cane to show the Space Marine but then quickly dropped it to the floor again when he realised he was brandishing it like a sword. The Dark Angel smiled and gestured for Regan to continue.

‘They invalided me out of the Guard and, when it became clear that we’d fought back the invasion, I was proclaimed a hero. I was made an honorary colonel of the newly founded 1st Procel Regulars and showered with medals and accolades. Parades were held in my honour and there were countless feasts and banquets where I was made to tell my story over and over again. They even erected a statue of me and I’m told that there’s a small island in Procel’s southern hemisphere where half of the boys born since the liberation have been named Regan.’

Tigrane was listening intently but Regan noticed that his brow was furrowed.

‘Something wrong, lord? Is my story not interesting enough?’

‘Not at all. It’s just that something puzzles me. When my battle-brothers and I relieved you in that trench, we carried away three survivors, but you are speaking as if you were the only one.’

‘My apologies, lord. I thought you knew. Tarrick never came out of his coma and they switched off his life support only days after the liberation. Murtock managed to regain consciousness briefly, but the blight was so strong in him that he was dead within weeks. Even now the toxins the enemy unleashed during the siege are killing people…’

Regan’s voice trailed off and the Dark Angel stared at him as if he could see right through him, peer into his very soul.

‘What aren’t you telling me?’

For the first time, Regan looked the Angel of Death in the eyes.

‘It’s me. For some reason I didn’t contract as virulent a strain of the blight as the others. It’s been killing me, but it’s been killing me slowly. Even so, the chirurgeons tell me that I only have weeks to live, months if I’m lucky. I’m dying, my lord. The enemy couldn’t kill me with bullets or bombs twenty-five years ago, but they got me in the end.’

The Dark Angel’s façade slipped briefly and something approaching emotion registered on his face.

‘That… saddens me, Regan Antigone. No man deserves a slow, lingering death, especially such a brave servant of the Golden Throne.’

The Space Marine’s features hardened again and he locked Regan with his steely gaze.

‘I should honour you in some way.’

‘Please, lord. That is unnecessary. I have already been honoured more than one man deserves in a hundred lifetimes.’

‘Then indulge me. Tell me your story again. Tell me how you and two of your comrades held off an entire arch-enemy attack and ensured that Amadis did not end up in their clutches. Tell me so that I can record it accurately in the annals of my Chapter and remember your glory for all eternity.’

Regan glanced towards the back of the hall in the vain hope that another surprise guest would make an entrance and spare him having to lie once more. There was to be no saviour this time.

‘As you wish, lord.’

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A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

‘Malediction’ first appeared as an audio drama in 2012.
First published in The Book of the Lion in 2013.
This edition published in 2014 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Cover artwork by Cheoljoo Lee.

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