‘What about the pheguth?’ asked Hark quietly.
‘The traitor general?’ asked Laksheema. ‘I think his uses are exhausted.’
‘He’s scheduled for termination,’ said Grae.
‘Mabbon led us to them,’ replied Hark. ‘He was the key that allowed the Salvation’s Reach mission to happen. The strategy of division between Blood Pact and Sek came from him. I’m not saying he’s lying, or withholding, but… he’s still an asset. He may know things that can help us, even if he doesn’t realise it.’
‘Do you want him brought here?’ asked Grae.
‘Again, I want his location,’ said Gaunt. ‘I’ll have him delivered to the palace by an escort who knows how to handle him.’
He turned to look at Daur.
‘Go fetch Beltayn,’ he said. ‘I want a secure link to Rawne in five minutes.’
Jan Jerik wrenched the cage door open, and stepped out of the freight car. Corrod followed him, stooping slightly to move under the door frame.
The air stank of sulphur, and it was unpleasantly hot. Jan Jerik was already sweating. He led Corrod across the rockcrete loading bay outside the elevator and into a broad chamber where the others were assembled and waiting.
Corrod’s men, under the supervision of Hadrel, were busy equipping themselves from the crates House Ghentethi had provided. They were pulling on drab Guard fatigues and regulation boots, and unshipping lasrifles and hellguns from the munition crates. Each packson was checking his chosen weapon with assured ease and familiarity.
Like Corrod, they had all changed. Each one was a towering spectre of tall bones and hard muscle, and taut; too tall, too thin. The uniforms, which Jan Jerik had feared would be too big for them, were, if anything, too small. Some had rolled up sleeves where cuffs fell far short of their bony wrists. Their eyes shone, like those of wild animals caught by lamp light in the dark. On the deck plates, Jan Jerik saw spattered drops of neon tears.
The ordinate’s men, a dozen or more footmen and subordinates, were standing watch. Jan Jerik could see the pallor of their faces, and smell the fear. They were all armed with carbines as per his earlier private instruction, but they carried the guns as if ashamed of them.
‘My ordinate,’ said one of the footmen, coming forward quickly in concern.
Jan Jerik waved him off. They were committed now. He didn’t dare think what might befall him and his men if he reneged, or tried to purge his guests.
‘You… you have everything?’ he asked.
Corrod was pulling on a faded Guard jacket and checking its fit.
‘It would appear so,’ he said. ‘Sirdar?’
‘Most of what we requested, my damogaur,’ said Hadrel. ‘Though the quality of the weapons and clothing is merely serviceable. Just standard lasrifles. And no support weapons or grenades as stipulated.’
‘We got what we could,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘Sources are few at a time of war. And to ransack Munitorum property without detection–’
Corrod raised a lasrifle, checked its aim and feel quickly, shortened the carry-strap, then opened the receiver to load a powercell.
‘It will suffice,’ he said. ‘Sirdar, share the ammunition equally between all. Hacklaw? Make sure everyone has a blade.’
His officers moved to their tasks.
‘This… this is the lower level,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘From down here, we draw power from the geothermal vents to run our lathes and processors.’
‘And the vent system links all Mechanicus and forge facilities in the city?’ said Corrod, strapping on an ammunition belt.
‘All of them, and beyond the city too,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘It was a network constructed by the earliest settlers, to harness the power of the mountain and–’
‘Yes,’ said Corrod, cutting him short. ‘Let’s begin. Give me the chart.’
Jan Jerik handed it over, then lit his lantern and walked through the preparing group towards a large hatch at the end of the chamber. He selected a silver cipher key from his chain, and unlocked the hatch. Stinking gases and heat billowed out.
Corrod gestured, and his men assembled.
Jan Jerik unhooked a rebreather mask from a rack on the wall. His subordinates did the same.
‘You’ll need these,’ he said to the damogaur.
‘No,’ said Corrod.
‘Damogaur, the heat alone can be treacherous,’ said Jan Jerik. He adjusted a toggle on his worksuit to activate its cooling system. ‘And the accumulated gases are noxious. They can blind and choke. Moreover, if there is unscheduled system venting or an upwelling from the–’
‘No,’ said Corrod again. He began to blink rapidly, and the neon glow of his eyes increased in intensity. His jaw clenched tightly, as if he was suffering discomfort. There was a sudden, wet, sticky noise of bubbling fluids.
Milky secondary eyelids formed over his eyes, a tough organic membrane oozing with mucus that resembled the bulbous, glassy stare of a deep sea fish. The lids dulled the light of his eyes a little. Another film of mucus oozed out to cover his raw stub of nostrils and his mouth, hardening like resin. It formed a bony sheathe across his nose and mouth, like a muzzle on a dog woven from intestine and coral.
Hadrel and the other men had all done the same.
‘We will manage,’ he said to Jan Jerik, his voice muffled to a low murmur.
Jan Jerik winced with distaste.
He raised his lantern.
‘Then follow me,’ he said.
Seven: Arrivals
They ran under the shadow of the rock and entered the Fastness. The deep water of the channel lapped against the huge rock overhang, stirred by the current and chopped by the wake of the watercraft. It was brisk and cold under the shadow, and the growl of the hard-running engines echoed off the rock.
Mkoll didn’t know the Urdeshi name for the island, and there were no maps to hand. As they cleared the shadow, the nature of the Fastness became evident. It was a vast volcanic peak, long extinct. At some point in its long history, the sea had invaded the dead cone through fissures like the one they had entered by. The immense internal flue had become a sea-lake ten kilometres in diameter. Around it, the inner walls of the cone rose like cliffs, a kilometre and a half high. Above, the cone was open to the heavens, a ragged circle of grey sky fringed with vapour.
Urdesh’s clave dynasts and agri-fleets had used the Fastness as a natural harbour. The wide internal water, deep enough to handle the draft of any vessel, was protected from all sides by the rock bastion of the cone, defending it from foul weather and oceanic gales. From the waterline up, the internal cliffs were clad in buildings: docks and wharfs, landing platforms, boat pens and salting houses. Above these rose habitats, administrative halls, workshops, warehouses and machine rooms, all built out over the water on rusted metal pilings, and stacked up like blocks, clinging to the cliff walls and linked by open staircases and suspended walkways. A small city, accumulated over the years around the inner circumference of the dead flue. In some places, the piled structures reached almost a quarter of the way up the cliffs. Everything was caked in a thick coating of algae.
The cold air stank of seawater, promethium slicks and venting exhaust fumes. Mkoll saw fleets of watercraft – landing barges and battered agriboats – packing in at the landing stages, unloading war machines, cargo and hundreds of Sekkite troopers. This was the Archenemy’s safe haven, the point of flight for the vast forces retreating from the mainland brawl. Cranes and industrial hoists swung the heavier items onto the docks from the agriboats, ponderously manoeuvring tracked armour and troop carriers to the ramps of the foreshore yards. Horns blew, their bass notes echoing across the hidden lake, and standards flapped along the walls of the waterline, company standards, battle flags and banners of the infernal powers proudly displayed for incoming vessels to see. There was a screech and chatter of machine tools from the work-barns on the waterside.