Fear And Fire Part 19

'I am sure she will thank you for that.

Verity gave her a sideways glance. Truly? I am not so sure. In these days past in the company of you and your Battle Sisters, I have felt like an impedi-ment. I fear Isabel, Ca.s.sandra and their like measure piety by martial prowess alone.

'Then you are mistaken. insisted the other woman. 'None of us doubt your dedication to the church, not after the strength of character you have shown, Sister. We are blessed to have you in our company. You may bear no weapon, but you have the soul of a Celestian.

Thank you. Verity looked away. You have my sorrows on the pa.s.sing of Portia. First Lethe, then Iona...'

'Each died in Terra's service. said Miriya. We should all pray for an end so n.o.ble.

'You have fought many battles together?'

A nod. 'On countless worlds. Insurrections and Wars of Faith. Witch hunts and castigations. We have spent much blood and ammunition together since our novitiate days at the Convent Sancto-rum.

Memory clouded Verity's eyes. 'My order also draws from the schola on Ophelia VII. She gave a wan smile. 'I recall the day that Lethe was chosen for the Order of our Martyred Lady. She was alight with joy.

'Lethe was a good friend and a steadfast sister-in-arms. Know that I do not exaggerate when I say the squad felt her loss as keenly as you did.

Verity nodded. 'I understand that now. To be Adepta Sororitas... No matter which order we give fealty to, we are all defenders of the faith in our own way.

'And your Sister, and Portia, and Iona are worthy to be named among them.' Miriya leaned close and placed a hand on Verity's shoulder. 'You understand that after what we have heard, we cannot suffer LaHayn to live a moment longer?'

Verity nodded again, the cold truth of the words lying heavy upon her. What must we do?'

'Purge him, Sister, or perish in the attempt.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

It was a dungeon, and the designs of such places had not changed in tens of millennia, since the very first days that men caged men and tortured them to gain secrets and superiority. Robbing their prisoners of even the dignity of that name, the tenders con-sidered the tiers of cells in the Null Keep as a paddock for things they thought to be less than human. The clerics who had pledged loyalty to LaHayn's project kept his secret well. One glimpse at the men with eyes sewn shut and lips fused together in the test chambers was enough to instil that kind of devotion. There was always a need for more experimental subjects, whether it was for the psyker-slaves to practise on or for LaHayn's pet biol-ogis adepts to doctor. The tech-priests liked to toy with the brains of the operant and the latent, trying to enhance the powers of the former and engender spontaneous psychic phenomena in the latter. These experiments were designed to induce 'break-outs' - artificially generated telepaths and psychokinetics - but more often than not, their end results were corpses or things that had to immedi-ately be put down. Vaun stole past the testing rooms, the humming psychic landscape of silent screams p.r.i.c.kling at the edges of his mind. His quarry lay elsewhere, deeper inside the prison levels.

There were only a few tenders in the main cham-ber, busying themselves with hushed discussion at a cogitator pulpit or ministering to the gaggle of gun servitors ambling about the perimeter of the room. Themachine-helots were constantly in motion, never tiring of their endless patrols of the lava tube corridors.

Vaun recalled from his youth the way the once-men clanked about the stone floors, the mouths of their guns forever questing for something out of place, so that they might kill it. He had heard that the blanked minds of the servitors were festooned with implanted triggers, devices that would stir pleasure impulses in them whenever a runaway was brought down. The psyker used a maintenance lad-der to convey him to the ceiling where the overhead cargo rail was fixed. Light did not reach up here, but his abhuman senses were more than enough to let him navigate his way, metre by careful metre.

Presently he came to a pulley and chain arrangement, dangling close to the guard station in the middle of the elliptical chamber. Vaun turned himself so that his feet were flat against the ceiling and his body pointed downward along the line of the chain. Below him, he could see the tenders in conversation, utterly unaware of the killer that hung silently above them.

'I've secured the new intake as you requested. said the first, 'but there are not enough guards for the chamber.

A nod from the second priest in grey. 'Ojis had them transferred to the engine room. The orders came directly from the deacon himself.

'Is he here? Did you actually see Lord LaHayn?'

'I was not so blessed.

Vaun sneered at the sanctimonious tone and gath-ered his power, cupping it in his mind like a hand shielding a candle flame. With a sudden shove, he pushed off and the heavy chain unravelled with a clanking rush.

The two tenders looked up in surprise, and their upturned faces met a rain of fire coming down. Streaks of unnaturally heated air ripped into them like laser bolts. Vaun spun about on the chain, let-ting the action whip him around. He spread the fingers of his free hand and let witchfire streak out from it in a wide red fan. The psionic flames lashed the priests who tried to flee and the slow-reacting servitor drones.

He dropped from the chain into a ready stance and moved to a tender who was beating madly at his burning robes. Ignoring the fire and the man's cries, Vaun hoisted the cleric off the floor and ripped a ring of heavy keys from his belt. The tender tried to say something, but Vaun threw him hard against the wall and he fell away. Flame licked about the ebon stonework, pooling in runnels of molten liq-uid.

Stubber rounds cracked past the killer and Vaun ignored them. At the back of his mind, he could feel the gaze of other psykers upon him, and in the half-dark it was possible to glimpse dulled eyes peering out from barred slots in cell doors. Be ready, cousins. He broadcast the thought to all of them. Freedom is close at hand.

The slow gun-slaves were gathering themselves and formulating plans of engagement. Vaun could hear them clicking orders to one another in the metallic prattle of machine code. He had to be quick. Stepping over a smoking body he found the second tender on his hands and knees, feeling his way toward an escape tunnel. Vaun took a handful of his robes and spun him over. Grotesque burns covered the pink-black ma.s.s of the priest's face and his hands were swollen claws. This one also had a hoop of keys, which went into Vaun's grip with the others. The tender tried to say something, but his heat-ravaged throat could manage nothing more than a mew. Vaun broke his neck with a savage kick and left him to choke.

Gun servitors advanced on him as he reached the wide cogitator pulpit. Vaun rammed the keys home in twin slots. Normally, two tenders would have been needed to perform the action at either end of the long console, but Vaun's psychic reach had none of the limits of his flesh and blood limbs. The keys turned, one by hand and the other by telekinesis, and a hooting tocsin warned of the opening of the cell doors. The servitors hesitated, weapons deflect-ing from the single target at the pulpit to the dozens of new ones boiling out of their confinement. Vaun tipped back his head and laughed as the ponderous machine-slaves were beaten down and torn apart by angry psykers.

He watched his erstwhile brethren fight like beasts. These were a poor lot, he realised, and barely one of them with the skills or brains of those he had recruited before Groombridge. The late, dull-witted Rink and disagreeable Abb had been the model of genius in comparison. These ones had no disci-pline, not an iota of the self-control that Vaun demanded from his men, and in such low numbers they would not last long against a concerted effort by the deacon's forces. The poor fools all bore scar-ring where the phase-iron of their cells had burnt them time and time again, but they would do. Even an army of rats would be better than no army at all.

'Cousins. he called, the word cutting through the acrid, smoky air. There's more of those tinplate clockworks down here, and plenty of tender tenders to boot. The escapees replied with l.u.s.ty cheers. The time has come to pay back that old wh.o.r.eson LaHayn in kind. Who among you would join me in handingout some reprisal?'

'Aye,' they called, tearing guns from flesh-mounts and surging into the tunnels. Vaun laughed again, his amus.e.m.e.nt lost in the clamour.

Thin drools of meat smoke dropped into the prison pit, pooling around the ankles of the women. With quick gestures, Miriya directed Verity back against the black stone walls, concealing her in the shadows. Gunfire, the crackling of flames and shouts of pain filtered down to them. The metal grille over the cell was sent clanging with noise as a troop of gun servitors stamped across it, weapons letting out chugs of stubber fire.

'It's him, all right. growled Miriya. 'I know that voice. The witch clings to life like some kind of par-asite.'

'I don't understand,' replied the Hospitaller. 'What could he want down here in the dungeons?'

The Sororitas kept her eyes fixed on the bars above, coiling the beads of her chaplet ecclesiasticus in her hand. From one end of the rosary of black pearls dangled a sliver insignum in the shape of the letter T, dressed with a stern skull imprint: the sigil of the Witch Hunters. 'You heard his words. He is rallying them, inciting them. Like a lit torch to a drum of promefhium.'

As if to give weight to her words, a flash of flames licked over the ceiling above, and a tender ran past, his robes burning.

Verity blanched at the strangled sounds of the priest's death screams.

'It appears we may not have the luxury of a con-sidered escape. added the Sister Superior dryly.

The popping of weapons died off and soon they heard the scramble of footsteps overhead. Faces, dirty with soot and grime peered down at the women with mixtures of avarice and hatred. A familiar, insouciant aspect soon joined them. Well, well. What an interesting reversal of fortunes this is. said Vaun, savouring his amus.e.m.e.nt. 'How does it feel to be the prisoner now, Sisters?'

Miriya seemed to lack the words to convey her cold, hard anger at that moment, and so she simply turned her head and spat into the darkness.

Vaun's smile waned. 'I had thought Viktor would have killed you for me. I see that he couldn't even get that right. The psyker sighed, and some of the other escapees about him giggled in amus.e.m.e.nt. 'Enjoy your new accommodations, ladies. I'm sure you'll find them just as disgusting as I once did.

'You can't leave us here. Verity blurted.

'Of course I can. You let me live when you had the chance to kill me, Sister Miriya. Now I have the opportunity to return the favour!' Vaun mocked, and he turned to go. While I go on to lay waste to this planet, you'll still be here, trapped and helpless, waiting for a rescue that will never come. Perhaps you'll die from starvation or infection. You might find a trickle of water from the upper tiers, which will sustain you for a time. Eventually, though, you'll need to find food. He leered at the Hospi-taller. 'But with n.o.body to feed you, there's only one source of meat down there.

With a callous laugh, he moved off, his new cohorts trickling away after him.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The word slipped from Verity's lips before she realised it, and her cheeks reddened. 'Sis-ter, forgive my profanity. It was unseemly of me...'

Miriya watched the grille carefully to be sure that Vaun had gone. 'On the contrary, Sister, I concur. He is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, of the most loathsome order.' The Celestian turned her attention back to her chaplet. For a moment, Verity thought the woman was going to commence a prayer, but instead she gripped the skull icon adorning the insignum and turned it counter-clockwise. Workings inside the chaplet clicked and whirred, and with an oiled hiss a shaft of razored metal emerged from the device. Miriya saw her watching.

'Case-hardened argentium-carbide steel. she explained, 'so that a Battle Sister may grant herself the Emperor's Peace if she is captured.'

Verity's face blanched. You don't intend to...?'

Miriya shook her head. 'It is not yet time for either of us to kneel before the Golden Throne. Not while there is work to be done.' The Battle Sister wrapped her fingers around the silver fleur-de-lys on her breastplate and twisted it, yanking the metal decoration off its rivet. She turned it in her other hand and held it like a push-dagger.

The Hospitaller's eyes widened as she began to understand the other woman's goal. 'How can I help?'

Miriya shrugged off her battle cloak and tensed. 'Pray for divine intervention.' The Battle Sister drew back and then ran at the wall. At the last second she used the msted bedstead like a springboard and threw herself at the stone facia. Sparks flew as the chaplet blade and the steel flower bit into black rock.

Impossibly, Miriya hung there, clinging to her improvised pitons. With slow, unbending will, Verity watched her push upward, grinding the knifepoints against the sheer basalt for leverage.

The younger woman did as she was asked, and began a whispered litany.

The priest Ojis bowed so low that LaHayn thought the man's hooked nose would touch the stone tiles. Your grace, there has been an incident on the dungeon tiers...'

'Elucidate.'

'A failure of containment in the cell blocks.' The dea-con thought for a moment he detected a measure of reproach in the priest's voice, but he let it go. 'It appears the locking mechanisms were released. Severaltest subjects and aberrants scheduled for exploratory execution have escaped. There are not enough gun servitors to police the entire level...'

'How did this happen?' he snapped. 'Whose failure is this, Ojis? Answer me.

'My lord, I did warn you about depleting the num-bers of-'

LaHayn advanced on the man. 'You dare lay the blame at my feet?'

Ojis paled. 'No, no, my lord. He backed away a step. 'I was merely making an observation.

The deacon snarled and looked away. This is not coincidence, Confessor Ojis. The witch Vaun is at work here. I know his methods. This is a smokescreen. He tapped his lips. You are to take direct control of the frateris militia inside the keep. Get below into the dun-geon tiers and bottle up those freaks. Terminate them all. LaHayn began to walk away.

'But, your holiness. piped Ojis. 'I am not a war-rior.

We are all soldiers in the Emperor's war. the dea-con replied. 'Never forget that. He threw Ojis a last look. 'I am relocating to the engine chamber. I do not want any more disruptions.

'But what about Vaun?'

LaHayn grimaced. 'He'll come to me of his own accord, mark my words.

'Emperor, hear me, give me strength. the Celestian prayed, her arms tight with tension and effort. 'Grant this mortal sh.e.l.l a grain of wisdom, a teardrop of Your might...' With the last word, she pushed herself up to the very lip of the prison pit. Miriya did not look down. If she fell now, it could break bones or worse, snap her neck. As she had told the Hospitaller, she did not have the luxury of death while the witchkin was still loose. 'Channel Thyself to me, make Your will known through this vessel.

Grasping the metal grate over the pit, the Battle Sister turned herself about and found the place where a throw-bolt secured it in place. She ground her boots into the walls, pressed the ceramite curve of her armour's spine to the iron grille and steadied herself. 'I am Your wrath. intoned Miriya, complet-ing the catechism. Your fury and resolve. Give me strength, I am the Hand of the Emperor. The words released a flush of adrenaline into her body and the Celestian threw her full weight against the bolt. The metal clanged and bent, but did not give way.

She let out a snarl of anger and effort. Her boots slipped on the stone, then found purchase again; she would not get another chance at this. 'Give me strength. spat Miriya, drawing concentration from the acts of faith performed by the living saints. 'I am the Hand of the Emperor!' New energy coursed through her, fuelled by her devotion, and she slammed herself against the metal. With a screech of breaking steel, the bolt snapped in two. Suddenly she was on the floor of the dungeon, the iron grille hanging open behind her.

A ragged figure - shorn of all hair it was impossi-ble to know it if were male or female - gawped at the sight of the Sororitas, and ran away down the stone corridors, calling out in strangled yelps. Miriya ignored it and set to work dragging a pulley cradle into place on the overhead rail. Within a few minutes, Verity had joined her and soon they were hoisting Ca.s.sandra and Isabel out of the other pit. The Hospitaller went to the injured woman's side and began to minister to her. Broken slats of wood discarded in the melee went into a makeshift splint.

Miriya surveyed the corridor. All along the walls, cell doors lay hanging open, some discoloured by flames or pocked with bullet impacts. There were dead servitors in heaps, some distinguishable only because their bra.s.s and steel bionics were visible among the blackened meat and bones of their corpses. The bodies of tenders lay about in corners, and in some places the remains of what were likely the prisoners of the Null Keep, malnourished and shabby humans still fresh with operation scars.

Ca.s.sandra approached her squad commander and gave her a hollow-eyed, determined look. 'What say you, Sister Superior?'

This indignity will not stand, Ca.s.sandra. We must see this place wiped from existence, as quickly as His spirit will let us.

'Aye. nodded the veteran Battle Sister. 'My thoughts still reel with the enormity of this mad-ness. It beggars my belief to comprehend it all... To think that at the start of this we were chagrined at such an a.s.signment. She looked away. 'With each step we take on Neva, we spiral closer to insanity!'

Verity broke in with a sharp cry. 'Someone's com-ing.

The ragged figure had returned, and this time with company. There were six of them, all in the shape-less coveralls of the keep's inmates. Miriya raised an eyebrow as she realised that some of them were car-rying G.o.dwyn-De'az pattern bolters. The largest of them, a scarred female, had the Sister Superior's plasma gun tucked in her waistband. The psyker prisoners were wary: they knew that these women would be far more difficult prey than the slow-brained servitors.

Ca.s.sandra broke the watchful silence. 'Those weapons are icons of the Imperial Church, and they do not belong to you. Put them down, now.The large woman grunted like an animal. These toys not yours no more. Mine. She prodded herself in the chest.

Where is Vaun?' demanded Miriya. Where is your leader?'

The woman spat. 'Ain't my leader, ya painted chapel harlot. He's taken those who'd follow and gone.

From the corner of her eye, Miriya saw Ca.s.sandra fingering her rosary. 'You are in charge here, then?'

The woman nodded. 'Got something to say 'bout it?'

Ca.s.sandra frowned. 'I find myself wondering. How could your mother have given birth to an ork with pink skin?'

It took a second for the insult to register, but then the hulking female was swearing and grabbing at the gun.

The Battle Sisters moved as one. Miriya tossed the broken fleur-de-lys like a throwing star and used it to open the neck of a witch balling ticks of lightning around his fingers. Ca.s.sandra's chaplet, with its hidden blade revealed, crossed the s.p.a.ce between the Sororitas and the prisoners, burying itself between the beady eyes of the ringleader. The other four were still reacting as the Battle Sisters engaged them hand-to-hand, breaking necks and snapping bones with deft motions and kicks from their boots. The last of them skittered away, pressing fingertips to his head. A wall of hard air rolled for-ward and battered the two of them back.

Miriya felt a rush of panic as she was shoved toward the dark maw of the open prison-pit.

A gunshot rang out and the last errant psyker fell screaming, clutching his stomach, the invisible force dissipating instantly. The Celestian turned to see Isabel with her recovered bolter wobbling in an unsteady, off-hand grip.

'A fine shot. she managed.

Isabel's face was sallow and clammy. 'Not so much. I was aiming for his head.

Ca.s.sandra handed Miriya her plasma gun. 'They must have found our wargear.

'Perhaps it was in a storage cell nearby?' opined Verity. 'I should search for my medicus case. I doubt these commoners would have known what to do with it.

'Be quick. ordered Miriya. Vaun has sown havoc here for his own reasons, and we should take advan-tage of it while we can. We must contact the Canoness.

Above the gloom of the dungeon tiers, the Null Keep's inner chambers spread open into honey-combs of interlocking voids. In the past these s.p.a.ces had been formed around great reservoirs of magma flowing from the core of Neva, but in the thousands of years since they had become cool and dank, turned over to the works of man.

Like all the s.p.a.ces within the volcano-citadel, the air was forever heavy with a dry, stone-baked heat that took the moisture from a man's lungs. Vaun moved up one of the broad spiral ramps that led to the upper levels, patting sweat off his brow. The arid, claustrophobic air welled up unpleasant mem-ories of his youth, and he damped them down with a determined snarl. At his heels, the loose gang of escapees followed. Their initial bellicose manner had softened somewhat as they left the dungeons behind. The smarter ones among them were starting to think beyond the next five minutes, wondering what good the breakout would do them if they had no plan, no escape route, and no direction. Pre-dictably, they looked to their rescuer for guidance.

Vaun hesitated in the shadow of an ascent ramp and held up his hand, halting the others. The open chamber ranged above them was a maintenance bay for the landing pads high on the peak of the vol-canic mount. Cranes as tall as watchtowers cradled a handful of coleopters and the pregnant shapes of cargo blimps.

'Skyships. said a lisping voice behind him. We should take one and fly for it.

Vaun looked back at them, not bothering to single out the speaker. 'Are any of you pilots?' Silence greeted him. 'Do any of you know where the deacon hides his bolter turrets on the outside of the keep? No? Then by all means, be my guest.

'We might be able to do it...' ventured another, a gangly female. She pointed upward. 'Skinny up the cranes, maybe.