Lord of the Night

Kaustus half turned away, fingers kneading together. He spoke beneath his breath, and Mita struggled to hear. 'The spaceport...' he muttered. 'Why the spaceport?'

'I... I don't know, my lord.'

He turned back to her as if surprised by her presence, and again she felt that there were elements to this maze she did not understand, pieces moving across a mighty chessboard of which she could witness only a fraction. The certainty was rapidly settling upon her that she could trust the testimony of nobody but herself.

'What should we do, my lord?' she hissed, astonished at her master's display of indecision. Never before had she seen him so affected by a sliver of news, let alone one from her mouth.

'Do?' he muttered. 'I... W-we should... We...' His voice trailed off, his eyes gazing into nothing.

She stared, astonished and frightened by this new Kaustus.

'My lord?'

And then abruptly he was back, eyes focused, voice hard, and it was as if he had never been away.

'We do nothing,' he growled, turning away, gesturing at the gaudily dressed servitor-doorman to the governor's chambers.

'But—'

'But nothing! How many times must I say it, interrogator? It is being dealt with. I have my own methods.'

The door swung open and Kaustus stepped away.

'But — my lord!' her cry caught him on the threshold, and he turned back to regard her from the corner of his eye. 'What of the vision?' she said. 'What of the attack? I cannot do nothing.'

He cocked his head, sighing, then nodded to himself.

'You will see to it that our mutual friend Commander Orodai keeps his nerve. There will be no action, do you understand? The attack must go unanswered!'

She glared down the length of his pointed finger, brandished like a gun, and swallowed.

She wanted to shriek: But why?

She wanted to grip him by his peacock-lapels and shake him until he gave her the answers she wanted. Needed.

She wanted to understand what in the name of Terra's arse he was playing at.

But more than anything she wanted his approval and his respect, so once more she dipped in a bow, swallowed her objections, and said: 'Yes, my lord. The Emperor prevails.'

'Indeed he does, interrogator. Be about your duties.'

The door began to close. Mita pounced upon her one final chance like a famished tiger.

'My lord?'

This time he did not turn back. 'Yes, interrogator?'

'I... Before, when I was in the gallery, and... and I thought I felt the traitor's presence...?'

'Yes?'

'Was... was I drugged, my lord?'

His pause was a fraction too long.

'Don't be ridiculous,' he said. 'You fainted again. It is a habit you should learn to control.'

He closed the door behind him.

Mita Ashyn was beginning to consider the very real chance that her master was insane.

She returned to Cuspseal with a sense of urgency, vying with confusion for dominance. Accompanied once more by Cog, she tolerated the elevator descent with cracking patience and raced upon her arrival to Orodai's offices, to carry out her master's orders. That she neither understood nor agreed with them was irrelevant. This time, she vowed, passing stammering vindictor clerks and objecting doormen, she would not fail. Orodai's office was empty.

She was too late.

In the wake of the assault upon the starport, unwilling to endure one more attack upon his Preafectus Vindictaire, and eschewing the assistance of the Inquisition whose presence he was quickly growing to resent, Commander Orodai had mustered as many of his lawmen as he could, had mobilised the precinct's entire complement of armoured vehicles, and had personally led a battle-group a thousand strong into the darkness below Cuspseal.

Mita had failed. Again.

War was coming to the underhive.

Zso Sahaal

In the final analysis, it had been easier than stealing fruit from a child.

All had gone as planned, and if the diversionary assault upon the starport gates had left a dozen or more Shadowkin dead. If the place had run thick with the blood of civilians and Preafects alike, if the operation had cost him dear in time and effort and anxiety, then these were sacrifices he was pleased to make.

Offerings, even.

He had the support of the Dark Gods, whether he cherished it or not.

Standing there on the edge of the launchpad, he'd felt the witch's scrying eyes like a whisper at the rear of his mind. And, as if in reply, the certainty that the warp stood at his shoulder, regarding his enemy with boundless hunger, had gripped him. It had flexed, swarmed at the forefront of his soul, and consumed her.

She would not be eavesdropping on him again.

So, he had the patronage of Chaos itself.

Before his aeons of dormancy, Sahaal's regard for the Ruinous Ones had matched that of his Legion: Chaos was as capricious a force as it was almighty, they understood that, and Konrad Curze had spent too long overcoming insanity and terror to lie so easily in the Dark Gods' bed.

But still, but still... It was an... intoxicating sensation, to have guardians so mighty.