And then there was Gol.
Kolea was sitting on the ground, staring at the spot where Yoncy had been. Only a few fused black thorns remained, like a scatter of dead leaves. There was no expression on his face. Gaunt couldn’t begin to know what Gol Kolea was feeling.
Except that part of him was afraid he could. Merity had been down here. She’d been caught in this. Gaunt barely knew her, and what little he did know was lies. In truth, he hadn’t known his daughter any better than Gol had known his. But the damage was primal. It defied rationalisation. A child was a child, no matter how estranged, no matter how false.
Dalin Criid stood apart from the rest, leaning against a wall, staring at the whitewashed stones. His weeping had stopped, and his anguished denials had trailed into silence. Gaunt knew Dalin felt this more bitterly than anyone. Even more than Gol, he had been close to the girl. The conflict had broken him. Grief for the loss of a sister, rage at the sheer depth of the betrayal.
Yoncy had never been Yoncy, but that hadn’t stopped them from believing she was real. For years, she had been part of them, part of the Tanith company, a survivor, a cheerful, quirky girl who had often been a welcome antidote to the grind of war. Caring for her, laughing with her, protecting her, amusing her… that had been part of their lives, simple human interactions that had allowed them to forget, once in a while, the struggle they were committed to.
Except she had been the war all along. The war had been dwelling with them, within their ranks, inside their trust, inside their minds and their hearts, waiting to reveal its true nature.
This was the greatest wound the Ghosts had ever suffered. It had cut the heart of them out, from the inside, striking from the single place that seemed safe. Gaunt had never doubted the devotion of his duty. He had never questioned his belief that man should fight against the Ruinous Powers with every fibre of his soul. Yesterday, he’d wanted the Anarch dead and defeated, just as he had the week before that, and the year before that.
But this? Sek would die, not because it was Gaunt’s duty, not because it was the right thing, not because it was the Emperor’s will, and not because his death would protect mankind.
Sek would die because of this.
Stablights bobbed in the archway behind him. Colonel Grae appeared, leading a team of Urdeshi troops and palace staff.
‘My lord?’
‘See to the survivors,’ Gaunt said. ‘Get them out of here.’
Grae nodded, and his men moved forward, gathering up Sancto, who was bleeding out and could no longer stand or speak, and assisting Hark, who was still supporting the wounded Laksheema.
Laksheema looked at Gaunt.
‘This area must be purged and sealed, sir,’ she said, her voice frail. ‘The entire level.’
‘It will be.’
‘I will assign ordo staff to undertake the purification rituals.’
Gaunt nodded. Laksheema turned and allowed Hark to help her limp away.
‘What is the situation?’ Gaunt asked Grae.
‘All power and systems in the palace are out, my lord,’ Grae replied. ‘Defences are down, and all comms are non-functional.’
‘So no word from Rawne?’
‘None, sir. There are reports of attacks throughout Eltath. The enemy has made a play.’
‘I’ll be up directly. Does Van Voytz have command?’
‘He does, sir,’ said Grae. ‘He began evacuation, but then the power crashed. I believe he is working to restore the palace and war room to combat function as quickly as possible.’
‘We need it.’
Grae nodded. He saluted, and turned to go, then looked at Gaunt again.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘your daughter is safe. I had her taken to a medicae station just twenty minutes ago.’
Gaunt found he could not reply.
‘She was shaken, sir, but essentially unharmed. I’ll request further reports. I would say she acquitted herself well. Braved the ordeal with great composure.’
‘Thank you, colonel,’ said Gaunt. Grae made the sign of the aquila, and hurried off to oversee the recovery efforts.
Gaunt had never, in his entire life, felt more like weeping. He looked at Gol, seated, silent, staring, and registered a stab of guilt at his own, selfish relief.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Curth.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Ibram,’ she said in a low voice. ‘This is something… this is… Throne, I don’t know. None of us will just walk away from this. It won’t just heal like a battle wound. And even when it does, it won’t be a scar any of us wear with any pride. And Gol, and Ban and poor Dalin–’
‘I know,’ he said. He hugged her quickly, to her surprise, then let her go. ‘I wonder,’ he said. ‘Ana, I was thinking… I might be forced to step down.’
‘As Lord Executor?’ she asked.
He nodded.
‘No one would question it,’ she said. ‘This trauma, it would break any–’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I think I might step down because Macaroth will never permit his Lord Executor to lead a vengeance strike in person.’
‘Against Sek?’
‘Wherever he is. Yes. He dies for this. For this, above and beyond any part of his heinous catalogue of crimes.’
‘Don’t be rash,’ she said. ‘Bram? Bram, listen. You can do more against him as Lord Executor than as an avenger. This is what he wants. It’s the spite he uses to snap us. He weakens us by striking at our souls. He wants to break you, and if you step down, he will have succeeded.’
She gripped his arm and stared into his eyes. Only she, it seemed, was not afraid to look into his eyes.
‘Sek doesn’t feel,’ she said. ‘He has no humanity. That’s why he can do this to us. Don’t let him turn your humanity against you. Feel this, and use it to help you prosecute this war to victory. Don’t squander it on some doomed gesture. You’re the Lord Executor. Worlds depend on you. And Sek should be fething afraid.’
‘Afraid?’
‘He’s made a mortal enemy even stronger.’
There was a clatter. The Beati’s sword, scorched and buckled, had slipped from her hand. Auerben rushed to steady her.
‘She’s passed out,’ Auerben cried out, her fire-scarred voice even more of a rasp than usual. ‘Help me here!’
Curth and Gaunt rushed to the Saint’s side.
‘Just exhaustion,’ said Curth, examining her.
Gaunt nodded. The Saint had come straight from days of battle at Ghereppan and Oureppan. Her divine strength had already been depleted before they’d even begun. These superhuman efforts in the undercroft had drained all the reserves she had left.
‘I see no major wounds,’ said Curth. ‘But then, I don’t begin to know how the warp may have wounded her in that fight.’
‘She is so pale,’ said Auerben. ‘Her light is gone–’
‘Get her up!’ Curth yelled. ‘Help me! Osket!’
The Ghosts from Baskevyl’s team rushed to her, and lifted the Beati’s limp form between them.
‘There’s no weight to her!’ Osket exclaimed.
‘This way!’ Curth urged them, leading the men towards the exit.
The Ghosts, in black, with their fragile pale burden, reminded Gaunt of pall bearers.
‘Ana?’ he called out.
Curth looked back at him and simply nodded. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. It was the same uncompromising determination he’d seen every time Medicae Curth had fought to save a wounded soul on the fields of war they had crossed together.
There were very few of them left in the undercroft now. Daur, Kolea and Dalin lost in their own pain, Blenner lurking by the door, anxious, as if he was waiting for something. Gaunt was heartened a little to see Blenner show a simple, human response of sympathy for once.
Baskevyl glanced at Gaunt. Shock was etched on his face too.