“Finish your water,” he said.
Rawne hesitated, and then swallowed the last of the water in the cup.
“Is there a point to you being here?” Rawne asked.
“A point? No. An angel responsible? I’d have to think so. You and me, Eli. There aren’t many of us left now. Fewer with each passing day. Do you remember the Founding Fields, outside Tanith Magna?”
“Yes.”
“Seems so long ago,” Larkin said, pulling a tin cup out of his pocket.
“It was a long time ago, you fething idiot.”
Larkin chuckled. “That row of tents. There was me and Bragg, and you, Feygor, Corbec. All set for a life in the Guard, we were. Young, stupid and full of piss and vinegar. Ready to set the galaxy burning.”
Rawne smiled slightly.
“Ready to set the galaxy burning and follow some off-world fether called Gaunt into the war. Now look at us. Bragg’s gone, long gone, Feygor, dear old Colm, who always seemed like he’d live forever. Feth it, I’m not even here as completely as I’d have liked.”
Rawne’s smile broadened.
“Just that little row of tents,” Larkin went on, pulling something else out of his jacket pocket, “and we’re all that’s left of it. Does that make us lucky, or the unluckiest ones of all?”
“My money’s on the latter,” said Rawne.
Larkin nodded and unstoppered the old bottle he’d produced. He poured a measure into each of the two tin cups.
“What’s that?” Rawne asked.
“The really good stuff,” Larkin replied.
Rawne picked up his cup and sniffed it dubiously. “That’s sacra,” he said.
“That’s not just sacra,” Larkin replied. “Taste it.”
Rawne took a sip. A haunted smile transfixed his face. “You old bastard,” he said. “You kept a bottle of Bragg’s recipe all this time.”
“No,” said Larkin, “but if I told you where it really came from, you wouldn’t believe me.” He took a sip. “This is special stuff, for special occasions.”
“Who are we drinking to?” Rawne asked, getting to his feet with his cup in his hand.
Larkin got up to face him. A traditional Tanith toast took three parts.
“Old Ghosts,” said Larkin.
They clinked the cups together and drank.
“Staying alive,” said Rawne, and they clinked again. The stuff went down so smoothly, like velvet and liquid ice.
Larkin and Rawne looked at one another.
“Ibram Gaunt,” they both said at the same time.
“May the Emperor protect his mortal soul,” Larkin added.
They clinked again and emptied their cups.
IV
Rawne was asleep on the cot that had been Gaunt’s. He didn’t stir as Eszrah slipped into the room. The Nihtgane walked over to the desk and sat down. He stared at the power sword lying across the desk top.
It was the dead time before dawn. The wind was swirling around the fortress. Nahum Ludd had carefully explained to Eszrah what had happened, using those pieces of the partisan’s ancient language that he’d studiously endeavoured to learn. Ludd’s eyes had been red and tearful.
Eszrah had simply nodded and made no reaction. He had walked away softly and left Ludd to his misery.
Sleepwalkers showed no emotion. It was part of their way. There was no weeping, no grief, no mourning for a Gereon Nihtgane. Such behaviour was a waste of time.
Eszrah ap Niht understood he had failed. He had failed his father’s last command to him. The man his father had given him to was dead because Eszrah had not discharged his duty to protect him.
That made Eszrah a dead man too, a shamed outcast, dishonoured. Eszrah wasn’t sure why any of the Ghosts were still speaking to him, or acknowledging his presence. Surely they realised his state of disgrace and recognised that the only thing awaiting Eszrah was the deada waeg, the road of corpses. His life had no purpose any more, except that he should atone for the wrong he had allowed to happen.
Eszrah ran his fingers along the blade of the power sword. He knew what to do: recover the body for burial and avenge the death ten-fold.
He took off the sunshades that Varl had given him so many months before and laid them on the desk. He would need to see now, see like a hunting cat in the dark. He took up his reynbow and, as an afterthought, picked up the power sword too. Eszrah was no swordsman, but the nature and true ownership of the weapon was important to the ritual. It had to be the dead man’s weapon.
Rawne snorted in his sleep and rolled over. He looked up, blinking.
He was alone in the room.
V
“I’m asking you just one thing,” said Dalin in a low whisper. “Don’t die too. Please, don’t die too.”
He sat at Tona Criid’s bedside, his head pressed against hers. She did not move.
“Come back to me. Caff’s not going to, I know that, but you can. You gakking well can.”
Tona lay as she was, her mouth slack.
Noises disturbed the field station. The medics were still at work, treating the last and the least damaged of the casualties. Corpsmen hurried in and out with bundles of supplies, fresh dressings and bowls of water.
“It’ll be all right, Dalin,” a man said. “She’ll be all right.”
Dalin looked up and saw Major Kolea standing beside him.
“Sir,” Dalin said, and began to rise.
“As you were, boy” said Kolea.
Dalin knew the major had been close with his mother and Caff. There was something about Major Kolea that was at once reassuring and also alarming. Kolea treated Dalin oddly, not like Meryn and the other arse-holes, overly respectful of Caffran’s memory. Kolea was different. He reminded Dalin of someone he’d once known, long ago, an uncle or a family friend perhaps, back on Verghast before the war.
“Did my mother know you, sir?” he asked.
“What?”
“My birth mother, not Tona, back at Vervunhive, where I was born. You’re Verghastite. Did you know my family?”
Kolea shrugged. “Yes.”
“Really?”
“I knew them very well.”
“Why haven’t you spoken to me about them before, sir? My memory of that time is only patchy, but if you knew them—”
“It’s a long time ago, Dalin,” said Kolea, his voice thick. “Tona’s been your mother for as long as it counts.”
“I know that,” said Dalin, “but… what were they like, my mother and father? You knew them. What were they like?”
Kolea turned away. He halted. “They loved you,” he said. “You and Yoncy both, very much. And they’d be proud to know a woman like Tona took you in and made you safe.”
“They died in the war, didn’t they? My parents. They died in the Vervunhive war?” Dalin asked.
“They died in the war,” said Kolea.
VI
The eleventh dawn came, without betraying any visible sign. The dust storm outside was so fierce that it blotted out the daylight and made the night linger. The whirring, almost buzzing moan of high wind and blowing dust droned along the hallways and corridors.
“Well, at least they won’t be coming at us in this,” remarked Berenson, accepting a cup of caffeine from Baskevyl.
“Because?” Baskevyl asked.
Berenson shrugged, forgetting for a moment he had one arm in a sling, and winced. “Zero visibility? They’d be mad to.”
“Have you fought the Blood Pact before, major?” Baskevyl asked, sipping from his own cup as he reviewed some transcripts his adjutant had delivered to him.
“Yesterday was my first time,” Berenson admitted.
“And did you see anything yesterday that remotely indicated they were sane?” Baskevyl asked.
Berenson was silent.
“They could come at any time, storm or no storm, dust or no dust,” Baskevyl said. “They won’t let anything stop them, unlike our own forces.”
“What’s that supposed
to mean?” Berenson asked.
“It means your reinforcements are supposed to be here in the next two days,” Rawne said as he joined them in the base chamber. “This storm is bound to slow them down.”
Berenson frowned. His expression was alarmingly like the one Caffran used to display when his honour was insulted.
“Oh, relax,” said Rawne, pouring himself some caffeine. “That wasn’t a slur on your regiment’s reputation or efficiency. This dust-out is going to slow any mechanised advance down to a crawl. No Guard commander’s going to push on blind. They’d have to be mad.”
“I refer you to my previous remark,” Baskevyl said to Berenson.
Kolea, Mkoll, Daur, Theiss and Kolosim arrived in the base chamber, closely followed by Sloman, Kamori and Meryn. Rawne waited a few minutes more until all the company officers had congregated around him.
“Let’s start,” he said. “Munition status?”
“Not fantastic, sir,” said Arcuda. “We’re down to about forty-eight per cent of our supply. We’re all right for the time being in terms of standard cells, and we can cook some up if necessary. But we expended solid ammo, charges and tube rockets like you wouldn’t believe yesterday.”
“Running badly low on barrels for the long guns too,” Larkin put in.
“Order a supply drop,” Rawne told Beltayn, who was taking notes. “Be very specific about what we need.”
“No supply drop’s going to find us in this,” said Kamori darkly.
“And if it does…” Kolea began.
“If it does, what?” Rawne asked.
Kolea made a face. “Dropping water into that courtyard was one thing. Dropping munitions? Charges and volatiles? That could turn out to be one feth of a big, bad idea.”
“So’s sitting here without any support weapons or heavy firepower,” said Rawne, “and that’s where we’ll be if we take another hit like yesterday’s. Rifles and blades are not going to be sufficient disincentive against another storm assault.”
“Maybe we can find an alternate LZ?” Daur suggested. “Providing the storm abates, of course.”
“Start working on alternative plans for safe receipt of a munitions drop,” said Rawne. “Beltayn, request the drop anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How’s our link, by the way?”
Beltayn shook his head. “We can’t raise Elikon or… or anyone else at this time, sir, atmospherics are too harsh. I’ll keep trying.”
“Do that,” said Rawne, “and keep trying to link Major Berenson’s mechanised, will you? An E.T.A. would be appreciated.”
“Sir.”
Rawne took another swig of caffeine, savouring the novelty of something warm to drink. He cleared his throat. “Secure and hold is the order of the day. Vigilance is paramount. You all know your places and your areas. I want every rat-run, shutter and basement in this fething edifice locked up tight. Any contact, any attempt to penetrate, must be denied with our trademark lack of tolerance. Another full assault would be bad enough, but I’ve a hunch they may try stealth again.”
The officers nodded.
“Tell the men, make it clear to them,” Rawne said. “I know the mood is grim, but we have to be twice as hard now. I don’t want excuses. Make sure the men appreciate that any slip up today means that Gaunt will have died for nothing.”
There was a nasty pause. Varl sucked his breath in through his teeth in disapproval.
“You think that was callous?” Rawne asked. “Then none of you know me very well. I’m not playing around because they’re not playing around. And before you ask, that’s the way he would have wanted it.”
Mkoll nodded. “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he said.
“Good,” said Rawne. “Who’s securing the new area?”
“Two company’s under me,” said Baskevyl.
“I want it clean and locked up in three hours,” said Rawne.
“Unless, of course, we find more new areas beyond the new area,” Baskevyl replied.
“Granted. Take Beltayn with you. A full report on that library and armoury, please.”
Baskevyl nodded.
“Then let’s get to it,” said Rawne. The officers hesitated for a moment. Rawne stared at them and then sighed.
“Oh, and the Emperor protects and you’re all going to live forever and all that…” he said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t do rousing or uplifting. Just get on with it.”
The men turned to go.
“One last thing, before I forget,” Rawne added, pulling them back in. “Someone took Gaunt’s sword from my office last night. Souvenir hunter, I’m guessing, or some sentimental idiot. I want it back. No excuses. And there will be severe discipline for whoever took it.”
“I’ll handle that, major,” said Hark. At some point during the briefing, he had joined the back of the group. He was fully dressed, with his storm coat on, resting his bulk on a crutch made out of a stretcher pole. He looked pale and sick.
“Should you be up?” Rawne asked.
“No,” said Hark, “but I am. This situation isn’t going to wait for me to heal. Curth stuck me with enough painkiller to make you all seem like a lovely, smiley bunch of people. That’ll wear off, I’m sure. Don’t expect any rousing speeches from me, either, but Major Rawne is quite correct. We have to get this right today, and the next day, and the next, without feeling sorry for ourselves. Gaunt would hate it if we went to pieces now. Everything he spent his life working to achieve would be wasted.”
“Everyone got that?” Rawne asked. “Good. Carry on.”
Day eleven. Sunrise at five plus two, dust out conditions, total, storm maintaining from last night. Worst storm yet.
I have to admire R. He has already met the task head on, handing out heavy work and duty loads to distract the men and officers both from the mortal blow we have suffered. He’s right. This is the only way to continue. The offciers officers cannot afford to be squeamish or weak. There is no time for grief or despair. If we are lucky—very lucky—we may get a chance to mourn later.
The fact that we have water now is a boon. The munition/communication/reinforcement prospects are not so glorious. Given the present situation, I believe we may withstand one further attack.
I continue to hear odd noises and sounds in I believe the drugs A.C. has given me to allow me to operate without pain may be having some side effects of a hallucinatory nature. I will ignore all such distractions.
I expect the enemy to assault again before the day is out, whether the storm blows out or not.
—field journal, V.H. fifth month, 778.
FIFTEEN
After the Storm, the Storm
I
Besieged by the storm, the house covered its eyes and mouth, and waited. Concussive waves of brown grit and loose white dust-vapour broke against the ramparts and sand-blasted the metal casemates. Shutters flapped and rattled, and some had to be tied down from within. From the vantage of the main gatehouse, the wind made a deep, raw voiced howl as it thundered up the approach pass.
In the base chambers, the voxcaster sets whined and yelped like injured animals as they hunted for a signal.
II
Meryn was calling to them. Dalin and Cullwoe finished checking the chamber with their lamp-packs and returned to the hallway.
“Anything?” Meryn asked.
“Empty sir.”
“Move along. Keep it fast.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dalin. He led Cullwoe on towards the next doorway. Meryn stepped back to check the progress of the rest of his company, which had broken down into pairs to explore and secure the newly discovered sections of the house beyond the inner courtyard. He called out some instructions.
“Captain?” Baskevyl appeared behind him.
“Sir.”
“Find anything?”
Meryn shook his head. “We’ve identified about eight or nine rooms so far, mostly leading off this hallway. There are more over that way, according to Sloman’
s men. We’re mapping as we go.”
“Empty?”
“Everything’s empty,” Meryn nodded. “Not even any furniture.”
“This area may have been abandoned, I suppose,” said Baskevyl. “I mean, Mkoll had to go through a wall panel to find it.”
Meryn glanced at him. “Or hidden,” he said, “deliberately hidden. There’s that library place, and the weapons store. Why board that off?”
“I wish I had an answer for you, Meryn,” Baskevyl said. “Any sense of this area’s limits yet?”
“No, sir. Different in here, though, isn’t it?” Meryn said.
“Different how?”
Meryn gestured towards the nearest wall light.
“The lighting glows amber, not white. It’s lower intensity, but it doesn’t come and go. It’s as if it’s on a different power feed from the rest of the place.”
“Or shut back to some emergency, energy conserving level,” said Baskevyl.
“Right.”
Baskevyl wrapped his camo-cloak around his shoulders. “I’m going back to the library. Keep going here, and report to me with anything you find.”
“Don’t get blown away,” said Meryn as he turned to go.
Baskevyl snorted as he moved off in the opposite direction. To get back to the library and armoury and, from there to the rest of the house, a man had to cross the inner courtyard. In the storm, that was not any kind of fun. Baskevyl pulled down his goggles, and edged out into the fury of the gale. The dust ripped into him with minute claws and pinpricks. He had to hold on to the courtyard wall and feel his way.
The wind made an odd, whooping, scraping sound as it formed a vortex in the courtyard. It sounded like-No, it doesn’t, he told himself.
He glanced up. Most of the dust storms they had endured since their arrival on Jago had been white-outs: blinding hazes of ash-white dust backlit by the sun’s glow.
This was different, and had been different since springing up the night before. It was an abrasive darkness, the dust brown-black and noxious, and there was no light behind it, no promise of sun. High above, the sky seemed a tar-brown emptiness, banded and mottled with radiating bars of darkness. Though it was lightless, sparks of luminescence seemed to dart through it. Lightning, Baskevyl presumed, electrical discharge. The wind was making so much noise, he couldn’t tell if he could hear thunder or not.