that I should know about, don’t keep it to your bloody self. If you don’t, you need to accept that he’s
a Gunhead now. We stick together. It’s the only way any of us will get through this alive. For the
Throne’s sake, man, he saved your life.”
“Duty, sir,” said Wulfe. “I’d have done the same under the circumstances.”
In truth, he still wasn’t sure he would have.
“That doesn’t change the facts, Oskar. Lenck has more than proven himself worthy of being
among us. He might be a bit of a rogue, but he’s done a damned fine job with that crate of his, and
he manages a difficult crew. For the sake of the mission, will you put your personal differences
aside and act like proper bloody soldiers?”
Wulfe grumbled to himself, but finally he said, “I’ll try, sir. Since you asked.”
Van Droi looked pleased. He straightened his jacket and said, “Unless there’s anything else…”
“Nothing, sir,” said Wulfe.
“Right. I’d better get moving,” said van Droi. “General deViers is having a war council, and I
expect Immrich will have fresh orders for the regiment when it’s done. Get some rest while you can,
Oskar. And some rations while you’re at it. I can’t say when we’ll be leaving this unholy place, but
Throne willing it’ll be soon.”
“Yes, sir,” said Wulfe. He saluted, and received one in return before van Droi turned smartly and
marched off towards a column of parked Chimeras.
152
And get some rest yourself, thought Wulfe with genuine concern. You really look like you need
it.
General deViers had ordered a cordon set up around his Chimera. He didn’t want the rank-and-file
getting too close to the meeting he had called. Kasrkin troopers from Colonel Stromm’s 98th
Regiment were positioned in a wide circle, hellguns in hand, told to keep everyone below the rank
of lieutenant out.
They were Kasrkin. He knew they could be trusted.
Bergen stood with Killian and Rennkamp at the front of a small crowd mostly comprised of
regiment and company level officers, adjutants, executive officers and, at the very front, positioned
somewhat separate from the others, the three senior representatives of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
DeViers stood atop the back of his Chimera so that all the officers could see him. He looked, to
Bergen, like a vulture on a branch glaring fiercely down at the three tech-priests, who observed him
impassively with lidless mechanical eyes. If the general had thought taking an elevated position
would rob Magos Sennesdiar of some of his dominating presence, or would force him to
acknowledge his proper place as a mere accessory to the expedition’s true leader, he had been
wrong. The hulking, red-robed figure of the magos still cast its powerful aura over the proceedings.
“How do you answer that?” deViers demanded. He had just charged the Mechanicus with
conspiring to lead the expedition force here for purposes outside the primary mission objective. As
one, the crowd of officers edged forward a little, eager to hear the magos’ answer.
“The accusation is false, general,” boomed the magos, “false, but understandable. Your view of
matters is being coloured by frustration and, perhaps, by the loss of so many men. The Mechanicus
is not offended. We guided you to the last reported location of The Fortress of Arrogance. It was not
there. You asked us to aid you in finding its new location. We are doing so. That our path led us to
the discovery of Dar Laq is coincidence, nothing more.”
“And you expect us to take you at your word?” asked deViers.
“We were attached to the 18th Army Group to provide assistance to you. We have done little
else. The Fortress of Arrogance is a sanctified machine. It was fashioned by us. Its machine-spirit is
revered by us. We seek its recovery as much as you do, but with one small difference. We of the
Mechanicus do not seek any kind of glory in recovering the tank the way you men of the Imperial
Guard do.”
DeViers looked to be on the verge of being personally affronted by that remark when Rennkamp
stepped forward and addressed the magos. “Then you won’t object if we leave this Dar Laq place at
once, magos, since further investigation of this place is irrelevant to our mission?”
The magos turned and fixed his lenses on Rennkamp, who suddenly looked a lot less confident
than when he had spoken. “It would be most regrettable to leave Dar Laq without taking the
opportunity to conduct a study of its mysteries, major general. There are gravity fields affecting the
upper reaches of the chamber, though no grav-generators can be detected. There is the metal all
around us. It is of a composition so far unknown to the Imperium. Its potential value can barely be
estimated at this time. These are only the most obvious examples of what Dar Laq might offer us. Its
existence was rumoured for thousands of years. Might we not conduct an analysis while the troops
are being fed and the vehicles prepared for the next stage of their deployment?”
“This is no mission of discovery, magos,” said General deViers gruffly. “Our rations are running
low. Our fuel is limited. Our numbers, I’d rather not talk about. The Mechanicus may return to this
place on its own damned time. For now, the secrets of this place will have to remain just that.” He
raised his eyes from the magos and searched the group of officers, quickly finding the face he
sought there. “Ah, Marrenburg. Have your scouts found a way out yet?”
Colonel Marrenburg stepped to Bergen’s side, looked up at General deViers and said, “They
have, sir: a tunnel the exact size and gradient of that which we descended. The air currents suggest it
153
leads back to the surface on the far side of the Ishawar range. I have a Sentinel unit scouting it out
right now, sir.”
“Excellent, colonel. Keep me apprised.”
There was a sudden metallic screech from one of the magos’ adepts, which was immediately
answered by a similar screech from the magos. Sennesdiar then said to deViers, “General, my adept,
Xephous, wishes to address you. Will you hear him?”
DeViers looked impatient, but he said, “Very well.”
The clacking, chittering form of Adept Xephous stepped forward, and, in an absolute monotone,
said, “With respect, general, are we not allowing our distrust of things alien to hasten our egress
from this place before time? Our back is protected by the collapse of the tunnel behind us. The orks
cannot, and in all probability would not, follow us down here. Might we not take this chance to
effect maintenance on our vehicles, to tend to our wounded, and to recover our strength for the
battles that must surely lie on the other side of this mountain?”
The general’s expression said he saw the validity of the adept’s comments. Bergen, too, saw the
sense in what Xephous had said. Looking around at the other officers, he saw them nodding.
“Fine points, adept,” said deViers at last. “Of course, I wasn’t born yesterday. Do you suggest
this for the benefit of the operation, or to allow you and your Martian brothers a window of time in
which to conduct some limited study?”
Xephous was on the verge of answering when Magos Sennesdiar emitted a short burst of noise.
The adept bowed and stepped back. It was Sennesdiar who spoke in his place. “My adept makes his
point for both reasons, general. Our enginseers will take care of vehicular maintenance. My adepts
and I will conduct what research we can while your medicae perform their duties and your troopers
prepare for what lies ahead. Clearly it is in both our interests not to rush headlong from this place.”
“Do you know what lies ahead, magos? deViers asked sourly. “Did your ritual offer any clues to
that?”
“Only that The Fortress of Arrogance awaits us, general, and it is no great feat of predictive
power to say that the orks will not give it up easily.”
Bergen watched deViers closely. He saw a look of resolve harden on his face. The magos had
chosen his words well, hitting the general where he was weakest, telling him his prize was still
within reach. Perhaps it is, thought Bergen. But I still contend that the tech-priests led us here
deliberately for their own ends.
After the meeting, with the other officers dispersing to issue new orders to their troops, Bergen
took his adjutant, Katz, aside.
“I haven’t called on your special talents for quite a while, my friend. But I think it’s about time
you got some practice in.”
Katz grinned. “You want me to follow those tech-priests, don’t you, sir?”
Bergen patted Katz on the upper arm.
“Don’t let them see you,” he said and turned to march back to Pride of Caedus.
Katz watched him go for a moment, and then turned in time to see the three red-robed Martian
priests moving off into deep shadow at the edges of the Cadians’ lamplight. They were moving
north along the cavern wall with a definite purpose, heading deeper into the jumble of alien
structures.
Katz hurried after them, looking forward to employing his Emperor-given gifts again after so
long.
“Don’t let them see me?” he muttered to himself. “You’re having a laugh, boss. No one sees
Jarryl Katz unless he means them to.”
154
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Darkness held no fear for Lieutenant Katz, even in an alien place like this. Shadows hid few secrets
from him. The tiny, sophisticated mirrors implanted at the back of his eyeballs allowed him to see
perfectly well in anything but the most absolute blackness. The three tech-priests he was following
didn’t seem to be having any trouble either, of course. Katz guessed they could see in a variety of
spectrums. He knew it would take all his expertise not to be spotted by them, but the thought of such
a challenge didn’t make him anxious. It excited him. It had been too long since he’d had a chance to
track a worthy quarry.
Katz had served as Bergen’s adjutant for over a decade, hand-picked by the man himself, and
few who looked at him would have guessed he was any more than a boot-polishing, shirt-pressing
lackey. It suited him and the major general both to perpetuate such an illusion. Would anyone have
believed even half the things he had seen and done? Not a chance. His history was far from that of a
typical Cadian soldier.
Katz had been specially selected for sniper training barely a month after he had joined the
Whiteshields. He had been in his mid-teens, but already his sharp eyes, steady aim and cold
composure marked him as a young man of great potential. From sniper school, he had been inducted
into a special reconnaissance commando program so classified that it didn’t appear on any
Munitorum listing, one of a number of black projects ordered by Cadian High Command and funded
directly by the planetary government. Most of the other trainees had been drawn from the ranks of
the Kasrkin, and they were anything but kind to the precocious youngster in their midst. Katz had
learned his lessons the hard way and, in due course, proved himself the equal of the older men,
earning their respect and, in some cases, their jealousy. It was as part of that program that his eyes
had been augmented. Throne, had it really been twenty-five years ago?
He almost snorted out loud at the speed with which those years had seemed to pass: all those
missions deep behind enemy lines; all those figures, human and alien both, that he had lined up in
his sights, only to watch them topple lifelessly at the next squeeze of his index finger on that little
curve of metal.
Things are much different now, he thought. But I wouldn’t change it even if I could. I wouldn’t
go back. What would the major general do without me?
Katz was fiercely loyal to Gerard Bergen. He was proud of having been chosen to guard his life,
for he judged Bergen a far better man than those around him, and it wasn’t easy to be a good man
when you were under orders from a soulless pig like Mohamar deViers. Whatever Bergen needed,
Katz would do. Right now, that meant following the tech-priests.
Up ahead, the robed and hooded trio screeched something to each other in that infernal machine
language of theirs, and Katz scolded himself for allowing reminiscences into his mind while he was
en mission. Perhaps his skills had dulled with time.
With the light from the Cadian vehicles well behind them, the shortest of the tech-priests, the
one with a face like a metal crab, pulled a small, pulsing electronic device from the folds of his robe.
Katz soon got the impression that the device was guiding them somewhere. He saw them consult it
several times and alter their course through dusty alleys lined on either side with towering hulks of
dark metal.
155
He was concentrating so hard on his quarry that he didn’t have time to wonder at his
surroundings. The major general said it was alien, but ancient and long abandoned. That was enough
for Katz. Like his own past, it was best not to dwell on it. The moment was all that mattered.
As the tech-priests shuffled on, he followed with all the stealth at his disposal, moving deeper
and deeper into the derelict underground city, getting further and further away from the Cadian
camp. They were heading northwards, and Katz soon began to wonder when they would stop.
Surely the chamber didn’t extend much further. They had already travelled over a kilometre in the
dark.
<There,> said Xephous. <The base of that tower. The auspex reading is strong.>
<He is still behind us,> said Sennesdiar as he led his adepts in the direction Xephous had
indicated. <That is most regrettable. He shows remarkable skill. Had you not noticed his thermal
signature, Armadron, we might not have registered him at all.>
<I would have detected him by his breath, or his heartbeat, or the scrape of his boots in the
dust,> insisted Xephous.
<All irrelevant now,> said Sennesdiar. <We shall proceed as planned. I will deal with our
unwelcome observer when the time comes. Hurry. Let us uncover Ipharod and be done with this.
The column will be preparing to leave soon and we cannot linger long.>
They stopped at the base of a great crumbling tower. Sennesdiar looked up, and, in infra-red,
noted the ornate black cogs and carved metal beams that were visible where large curving sections
of the outer shell had fallen away.
<Xephous?>
<Here, magos.>
The adept pointed at one particularly large metal plate on the ground in front of him, and
together the three tech-priests moved to lift it. It would have taken a dozen men significant effort,
