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The Red Path 2: Will of the Blood God – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Red Path 2: Will of the Blood God

Chris Dows

Cardinal Astral Volturn Pradillo looked into the eyes of the Emperor of Mankind and wept. It was not the radiance of His glory that brought forth his tears, nor was this a show of joy for the benefit of Canoness Preceptor Alecia and Colonel Balacet standing in quiet contemplation behind him. The reason was the elaborately carved throne standing between the mighty golden legs of the statue that towered above him. It remained empty, and its lack of occupancy was the cause of his distress.

One of the figures behind him moved slightly, betraying the growing impatience Pradillo had long learned to live with. Even though his hearing was poor, the creaking of the highly polished dress boot gave Balacet away as much as the stifled yawn that followed. Pradillo had never decreed morning prayers to be mandatory for anyone outside the Ministorum. Although he would never say so, he would rather not have the colonel here, regardless of his standing. However, it was the only way for Pradillo to regularly meet both the leader of the Adepta Sororitas’ Order of the Divine Perfection and the commander of the Imperial Guard garrison. While he knew they would never openly admit it, given the opportunity they would prefer to leave him out of any decisions regarding the safety and protection of Salandraxis. It had set the tone for his relationship with Balacet and – surprisingly, given the Sisterhood’s eternal link to the Ecclesiarchy – Alecia since the day Lozepath had decided to leave the planet.

Ignoring the pain in his ancient bones, Pradillo rose from his knees. Without bidding, a serf stepped from out of the statue’s shadows and handed him a pristine white handkerchief to wipe his eyes. Pradillo dabbed the tears from his wrinkled skin, and handed it back without acknowledgement. A second figure then stepped forwards, but this time Pradillo turned and nodded thanks to the junior cleric who offered him his tall, oval headdress. Bending forwards, he allowed the young man to place it on his head and, with a wave of his shaking hand, Pradillo dismissed him too. Taking two steps back, Pradillo crossed his bony hands in front of him and gave a final bow to the huge statue of the Emperor. Pradillo took a few moments to steel himself, changed his expression to one of serene neutrality and then turned to face the canoness preceptor and the colonel. Alecia was staring up at the statue, lost in her thoughts, while Balacet moved restlessly from foot to foot. Pradillo ignored the colonel’s irritation. He would not be rushed in his own temple.

He had neither the energy nor the inclination to move quickly or speak loudly. As he shuffled along the gold-tiled floor, Alecia and Balacet joined him on either side, the surcoat of the towering, blonde-haired woman sweeping along the floor as she fell into step with the squeaking boots of Balacet. It was a well-rehearsed stroll past the series of smaller statues and massive supporting pillars that lined the circumference of the enormous circular hall to the temple doors. Despite Pradillo’s personal entourage – a few clerics bustling underneath the temple’s ornate, glass-domed ceiling and a number of ceremonially dressed Adepta Sororitas stationed on either side of the exit – he was content their conversation would be private. Given its nature, it needed to be.

‘Still no news from the crusade fleet, I take it?’

As usual, Balacet had his gloved hands clasped behind him and, as usual, he answered with a barely disguised sigh.

‘No, your grace. With the flotilla passing through the vanguard of the Archenemy, it is unlikely we shall hear from the fleet until it can safely broadcast long-range vox. It would be imprudent to risk astropathic communication again. Unless it is a dire emergency.’

Pradillo pretended not to see the vicious look Alecia shot Balacet at his comment. He was being deliberately inflammatory and she had clearly found it a step too far. Instead, Pradillo cast his mind back to long weeks ago, when he had received the single, terse communiqué from the Light of the Emperor. It had not only informed him that the Living Saint had been victorious in his latest campaign near the Cadian Gate but, blissfully, that he was now returning to his one true home. The relief had nearly brought the cardinal to his knees.

Pradillo took in a sharp breath at the memory, and his serf stepped forward to offer his arm. The cardinal waved him away. Balacet and Alecia glanced over to him, but he gave them both a raised eyebrow and they continued to walk. Since the day Lozepath had left to take the Emperor’s word to the enemy, Pradillo had become a shadow of his former self. Oh, he had tried to stop the Living Saint from leaving; at no small risk to himself or his position, he had begged Lozepath to stay. More than anyone, Pradillo understood his divine power was integral to the defence of Salandraxis and without it, the cardinal had argued vehemently, the planet was exposed and vulnerable. Yes, it was heavily fortified, but Lozepath provided as much physical protection as he did spiritual symbolism. Without him, Salandraxis was vulnerable, incomplete.

Lozepath had sat and listened to Pradillo’s arguments on the very throne he had just wept before. He had duly dismissed Pradillo’s concerns in favour of taking the battle to Chaos rather than wait for it to come to them. Both Canoness Alecia and Colonel Balacet had done little to support Pradillo, something he bitterly resented to this day.

‘I can assure your grace we can protect this planet quite adequately without the aid of his holiness. Without hubris or boast, we can defend Salandraxis,’ the canoness said, as if reading his thoughts.

Pradillo stopped his painful progress and stared up into the deep blue eyes of the preceptor. She did not flinch from his gaze, returning it with a look of defiance and curiosity. The cardinal was the one to break eye contact and continue on his way, concerned he had come close to revealing the doubt he held at her words. It was all well and good being assured reinforcements would flock to them from all corners of the Empire if – if – an attack did come, but Abaddon the Despoiler had accelerated his bloody advance across the sector. They desperately needed Lozepath.

‘Of course, your grace, that is not to say we would prefer to fight without our Living Saint. His power is divine, given by the Emperor himself. But you have to admit, in his absence there has been no attack on Salandraxis from any of the enemy’s forces. Perhaps you underestimate the power of the Astra Militarum,’ the colonel intoned.

Balacet had always been hopeless at diplomacy. Stepping past the Adepta Sororitas sentries standing either side of the massive curved doorway, the old cardinal exited into the brilliant sunshine of Salandraxis Municipalis first. He gazed upon the expansive tree-lined avenue Lozepath had marched down to board his flagship all those years ago. The pain of his absence swept through him anew, and he took in a faltering, shaky breath to steady his resolve.

‘I am reminded of the last thing the Living Saint said to us before he left. The shadow of Chaos might be long and it might be deep, but do not fear it, Children of the Emperor. It shall never consume the shining pearl that is Salandraxis. Through me, the Emperor resides upon it.’

Pradillo did not look to Balacet and Alecia to see if they had taken the warning he was giving them. His faith was in Lozepath’s ability to protect Salandraxis, and that alone. Once again he felt a tear rolling down the deep wrinkles of his face.

‘Please inform me if you receive any notification of the fleet’s position or status. If you will excuse me, I must resume my duties in the High Temple.’

Pradillo saw the look of relief in Balacet’s face as he was dismissed. He watched the canoness preceptor and colonel move off in opposite directions down the ceremonial steps leading to a bustling walkway. Both went to join their patiently waiting retinues, Balacet marching off immediately towards a waiting Valkyrie gunship, Alecia staying to speak with a number of her sisters. Looking to the sky, Pradillo sighed heavily. He was a deeply religious and spiritual man, but he was also a pragmatist. With every passing day that Lozepath did not return, the cardinal’s confidence that Salandraxis would not share the fate of countless destroyed worlds faded. Slowly, painfully, he returned to the hallowed sanctuary of the temple, shaking off the help proffered to him by his junior cleric. Too many things outside of his control were in play, and Pradillo knew he had only one option left open. He would prostrate his unworthy form before the towering effigy of the Emperor, and pray.

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A Black Library Publication

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