‘So it has finally come,’ Macharius said. ‘They have finally found the courage to move against me.’
Drake shrugged. ‘We both knew it was bound to happen. You’ve made too many enemies, ruffled too many feathers. Too many people want to share in the glory.’
‘Richter must be defeated. An example must be made to all future rebels.’
‘Is it more important that you defeat one insignificant foe on a flyspeck world or that you remain in charge of the crusade?’
Macharius stared at him. He looked as if he were about to say something. His fist clenched and he closed his eyes for a second as if breathing a prayer to the Emperor. Whether he was asking for patience or inspiration, I could not tell.
‘What do you intend to do about this challenge?’ Drake asked. His eyes met the Lord High Commander’s and did not blink.
Macharius remained silent for a moment. ‘What I have always done. Fight!’
And so we were ordered to Acheron and another fight that seemed impossible to win. This time with the representatives of the Imperium and those who had once been Macharius’s most loyal followers.
Chapter Thirteen
Ships filled the sky over Acheron Prime. It was hard to believe there were so many in existence, and it made me realise the full extent and power of the crusade. Here there was no sign of the long, grinding defeat we had known on Loki. Here, the full majesty of the Imperium was evident.
Acheron Prime itself was a vast half-empty city, built amid the ruins of some xenos civilisation on the far edge of the galaxy. Old dark towers loomed over shiny new human buildings. The mix gave the city the look of a regicide board, zones of dark and zones of light intermingled in its architecture.
If the leaders of those conspiring against Macharius were discommoded by his sudden appearance, they gave no sign of it. We were greeted on the edge of the space field by assembled regiments from two score worlds. They raised a thunderous cheer as the doors of the shuttle opened. Macharius raised his hands and waved at the assembled crowd. He turned to Drake.
‘There are at least twenty regiments of Guard down there who should be elsewhere.’ His tone was low and urgent. I think in his head he was making calculations. He had brought with him only his own personal guard and the remnants of the Grosslanders who had been evacuated from Loki.
At first I thought he was considering using these troops to return there and defeat Richter, but as we walked down the ramp in the chill air of the haunted world, it struck me that he might be considering something else. If it came to a battle we would be greatly outnumbered. I pushed those thoughts aside as I came down the steps. I felt the tug of a new world’s gravity, slightly stronger than the Imperial standard of the ship. It made my limbs feel heavier, and it increased my sensations of weariness.
I studied the men who were assembled to greet us, knowing that before me lay an index of those who had conspired to replace Macharius. If they felt the slightest embarrassment it did not show on their faces.
General Tarka looked resplendent in his Hussar’s uniform. Piercing icy-blue eyes looked out of his lean, severe face from beneath bushy eyebrows, and his thin narrow mouth was drawn in a tight smile beneath his clipped moustache. He wiped away a speck of imaginary dust from his dress uniform’s sash. He could not have held himself any taller and straighter than he did but he gave the impression of suddenly being on parade.
Beside him General Arrian gazed up at Macharius’s approach with his bright, mad and fanatical eyes. He was a man who believed in the crusade still beyond any shadow of a doubt. The question was whether he still believed in its leader and the answer, given his presence here, was most likely no.
Looming over the pair like a starscraper over a domestic hab-block was General Cyrus, so tall he looked almost like a mutant, although you would not have said that from a distance. His body was perfectly proportioned. His face looked like it was carved from a block of granite and his eyes were like chips of grey stone.
In his shadow, as if he sought to remain out of sight, there was General Crassus, a man of medium height, almost as broad as he was tall. In the intervening years since I had last seen him, he had put on some weight around the belly and acquired a number of new chins. His face was pockmarked and a scar ran from his brow to the corner of his mouth. There was something about the man that drew the eye despite his attempt to blend in with his companions, an aura of power, of ruthless intelligence, that told you that he was dangerous.
Off to one side, surrounded by a guard of honour, stood another group of robed dignitaries representing the great Administratum of the Imperium. The two groups stood conspicuously apart as if they were having nothing to do with each other. Smiling affably, Macharius advanced to meet them. All of the officers saluted crisply, a gesture Macharius returned with perfect punctilio.
The head of the cabal from the Administratum strode towards Macharius and bowed. It was a complex, ambiguous gesture and it served to remind everyone that he was not part of Macharius’s command. He was another tall man, with glossy dark hair going grey at the temples and a small spade beard. His eyes were of such a dark brown they seemed almost black. Three floating skulls orbited his body at shoulder height, a mark of his status, a badge of his power. And those skulls were something more. They were repositories of knowledge and advisors of great cunning.
‘Lord High Commander,’ said the cardinal, in a rich, rolling bass voice. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance at long last.’
Macharius’s glance was cold and measuring. ‘And you are…’
‘I am Cardinal Septimus,’ said the newcomer. ‘As I explained in my message–’
‘I received no message from you.’ Macharius paused to look pointedly at his generals. ‘Or anyone else.’
‘But I assumed you were here because you received my invitation.’ Cardinal Septimus gave a very good imitation of a man being flustered by unexpected events. If he had not been who he was I might even have believed it.
‘I came because I had received reports of my commanders gathering here on Acheron and I wondered what could be so important as to detain them from their duties to the Emperor and the crusade.’
‘Alas,’ said the cardinal, ‘I fear I am to blame for that. I sent the Imperial summons to all of your generals and yourself.’ He paused and added with just a hint of irony. ‘Clearly some of my messengers have been delayed as the one to you was.’
‘So you have summoned me here,’ Macharius said. His tone was mild. Only a fool would have assumed that he was anything but dangerous and I doubted the cardinal, despite his manner, was a fool.
‘I believe you are still subject to the commands of the Emperor and his chosen representatives,’ said Septimus. There was steel in his voice. ‘You are a great hero of the Imperium, Lord High Commander.’
He glanced at the skulls floating around him. For a moment, as if subject to some unheard-of command, their circling ceased and their eyesockets all turned to regard Macharius. My hand went to the shotgun, just in case. ‘Once these too belonged to heroes of the Imperium.’
He let the words hang in the air for a moment then said, ‘Are you still subject to the commands of the Emperor and his representatives?’
Utter silence descended. Everyone stood absolutely still, straining to hear Macharius’s response. There could only be one answer to that question which would not result in civil war, a thing Macharius had spent his whole life ending.
Macharius smiled at the cardinal and said, ‘You bear tokens proving you are who you claim to be.’
‘My messenger carried documents marked with the appropriate seals.’