Nemesis

‘I suspected so,’ ventured Siress Venenum, her face of green and gold porcelain tilting quizzically. ‘Only the Custodian Guard would be so compelled towards ensuring the deaths of others before their own.’

Valdor shot her a look and smiled coldly. ‘If that is so, then in that way we are alike, milady.’

‘Eversor,’ said the Master, his voice level. ‘Take your seat and show some restraint, if that is at all possible.’ The featureless silver mask reflected a twisted mirror of the snarling bone face.

‘Restraint?’ said Sire Vindicare, his aspect hidden behind a marksman’s spy mask. ‘With all due respect, my lord, I think we can all agree that the Eversor’s anger is fully justified.’

‘Horus sent one of his men to die in his stead,’ Sire Eversor sat once more, his tone bitter. ‘He must have been warned. Or else he has a daemon’s luck.’

‘That, or something else…’ Siress Venenum said darkly.

‘Missions fail,’ interrupted the silk-faced mistress of the Callidus. ‘It has ever been thus. We knew from the start that this was a target like no other.’

Across from her, the watchful steel skull concealing Sire Culexus bent forward. ‘And that is answer enough?’ His whispering tones carried across the room. ‘Six more of our best are missing, presumed dead, and for what? So that we may sit back and be assured that we have learnt some small lesson from the wasting of their lives?’ The skull’s expression did not change, but the shadows gathered around it appeared to lengthen. ‘Operative Iota was important to my clade. She was a rarity, a significant investment of time and energy. Her loss does not go without mark.’

‘There’s always a cost,’ said Valdor.

‘Just not to you,’ Venenum’s retort was acid. ‘Our best agents and our finest weapons squandered, and still Horus Lupercal draws breath.’

‘Perhaps he cannot be killed,’ Sire Eversor snapped.

Before the commander of the Custodians could reply, the Master of Assassins raised his hand to forestall the conversation. ‘Sire Vanus,’ he began, ‘shall we dispense with this hearsay and instead discuss what we know to be true of the fallout from our operation?’

Vanus nodded, his flickering, glassy mask shifting colour and hue. ‘Of course.’ He pushed at a section of the pinkish-red wood and the table silently presented him with a panel of brass buttons. With a few keystrokes, the hololithic projector hidden below came to life, sketching windows of flickering blue light above their heads. Displays showing tactical starmaps, fragments of scout reports and feeds from long-range observatories shimmered into clarity. ‘News from the Taebian Sector is, at best, inconclusive. However, it appears that most, if not all, of the prime worlds along the length of the Taebian Stars trade spine are now beyond the influence of Imperial governance.’ On the map display, globular clusters of planets winked from blue to red in rapid order, consumed by revolt. ‘The entire zone has fallen into anarchy. We have confirmation that the worlds of Thallat, Bowman, Dagonet, Taebia Prime and Iesta Veracrux have all broken their ties with the lawful leadership of Terra and declared loyalty to the Warmaster and his rebels.’

Sire Culexus made a soft hissing sound. ‘They fall as much from their fears as from the gun.’

‘The Warmaster stands over them and demands they kneel,’ said Valdor. ‘Few men would have the courage to refuse.’

‘We can be certain of only two factors,’ the Vanus went on. ‘One; Captain Luc Sedirae of the 13th Company of the Sons of Horus, a senior general in the turncoat forces, has been terminated. Apparently by the action of a sniper.’ He glanced at Sire Vindicare, who said nothing. ‘Two; Horus Lupercal is alive.’

‘Sedirae’s death is an important success,’ said the Master, ‘but it is no substitute for the Warmaster.’

‘My clade has already engaged with the information emerging from the Taebian Sector,’ said Sire Vanus. ‘My infocytes are in the process of performing adjustments in the overt and covert media to best reflect the Imperium’s position in this situation.’

‘Papering over the cracks with quick lies, don’t you mean?’ said Siress Callidus.

The colours of the Vanus’s shimmer-mask blue-shifted. ‘We must salvage what we can, milady. I’m sure–’

‘Sure?’ The silk mask tightened. ‘What are you sure of? We have no specifics, no solutions! We’ve done nothing but tip our hand to the traitors!’

The mood of the room shifted, and once again the anger and frustration simmering unchecked threatened to erupt. The Master of Assassins raised his hand once more, but before he could speak a warning bell sounded through the room.

‘What is that?’ demanded Sire Vindicare. ‘What does it mean?’

‘The Shrouds…’ The Master was coming to his feet. ‘They’ve been compromised…’ His silvered face suddenly turned towards one of the mahogany-panelled walls, as if he could see right through it.