Macharius tilted his head to one side. I would not have liked to have been the man he studied in such a way. It reminded me too much of a great predator studying a herbivore. ‘I understand.’
‘Good. I shall have the ship prepared for departure. We must set out immediately.’
‘Of course,’ said Macharius. Septimus looked surprised, like a warrior who had come expecting a desperate struggle and achieved an easy victory.
‘There are just a few details that must be taken care of before I depart to ensure a smooth transfer of command,’ Macharius added.
‘Naturally,’ Septimus agreed. Having won the basic point, he was not going to quibble over details, but I could see his eyes narrowing for a moment, as if he suspected Macharius of planning something devious. Pleasantries were exchanged and a few minutes later the cardinal withdrew with every appearance of civility.
‘So you have agreed to return to Terra,’ Drake said. They were in Macharius’s chambers now, surrounded by his honours, seated at his table, staring at each other across the regicide board.
‘What else was I supposed to do?’ Macharius replied. ‘I cannot turn down a direct command from the Imperium.’
‘Can’t you?’
Macharius stared at the inquisitor. ‘I trust you are not implying anything.’
It was clear that even Drake could overstep the mark. ‘It has been my life’s work to end the Great Schism,’ said Macharius. ‘I would not wish to undo it all at this late stage.’
Drake nodded. ‘I would expect no less.’
‘Of course, it is always possible that the cardinal’s ship might be delayed by some unforeseen problems.’
Drake smiled a cold smile. ‘He could always requisition others.’
‘That will take time and those too might have problems.’
‘They might.’
‘And my departure may be delayed by other unforeseen circumstances.’
‘That also is possible.’
‘Do not misunderstand me, my friend,’ said Macharius. ‘I will visit Holy Terra. I will submit myself to the will of the Ecclesiarchy, but I will do so in my own good time, when my work here is done.’
Drake nodded. ‘As you say,’ he said.
‘Now, I want all of the information you have gathered about Loki and Richter.’
A frown passed across the inquisitor’s face. He clearly did not appreciate this development, nor Macharius’s mania on the subject, but he produced a folder containing a number of documents. ‘These have arrived from the agents we left in place.’
I tried to imagine what it would be like to be left behind among heretics on a world like Loki, amid the walking dead. I tried to imagine how messages could be smuggled in and out of the system. I couldn’t, but clearly Drake not only could but had.
The news was not good.
It was not long before another blow to Macharius’s prestige descended. I stood guard in his throne room, idly surveying the great murals of Macharius’s triumph on Malachite and noting that I was shown standing guard at his shoulder, when the doors were suddenly thrown open and a giant strode in, a barbaric figure encased in ceramite armour.
‘Greetings, General Macharius,’ he said, in a great booming voice. Macharius rose and bowed in the most formal manner then strode across the chequered mosaic of the floor to slap the giant on the back. The sound echoed across the chamber like a gunshot.
‘Greetings, Logan Grimnar. It has been too long.’ It has been a number of years since we had fought alongside the Space Wolf on Demetrius. I frowned at the memories that the sight of him brought back. I had unpleasant recollections of that particular world and the things we had found there.
‘Indeed,’ said Grimnar. ‘But it does my heart good to see you.’
‘You did not come here just to exchange pleasantries, though,’ said Macharius.
‘No. The Great Wolf would have words with you.’ There was something about the way Grimnar spoke, an odd undertone, that made me look at him twice. If I had not known better I would have said it was resentment. Of course, the Emperor’s Chosen are above such things.
Macharius heard it too. Just for a moment a frown passed across his face. ‘And he sent you as his personal messenger.’
‘He does us both honour,’ said Grimnar.
‘A feast will be prepared,’ said Macharius. He clearly remembered his last such encounter with the Wolves of Space. ‘We shall meet as soon as he wishes.’
‘This evening then,’ said Grimnar. ‘I will bear your words to him.’
And with that he turned on his heel and left. In anyone else it would have been a sign of profound disrespect, but Grimnar and his ilk were above the petty protocols of politeness that bound the rest of us. They were laws unto themselves and had been since before the foundation of the Imperium.
Macharius’s gaze followed him gloomily. Clearly he suspected that whatever had caused the Great Wolf to demand an audience could not be good.
Chapter Sixteen
It takes a lot of work to prepare a feast for a company of Space Wolves. The tables groaned under the weight of sides of beef, of whole sheep roasted on spits, of Lacedomean calix basted in their own blood and stuffed with steaks. Whole chickens sat on plates. Broached barrels of ale and tankards full of strong, fiery spirits sat beside every plate.
I looked out at the crowd of awed humans and mortal gods and I pledged I would not make the same mistake as last time. At the high table Ulrik Grimfang and his retinue sat with Macharius and all his generals. Cardinal Septimus was present too, smiling his too-satisfied smile, the servo-skulls still orbiting and seeming to take in everything with their dead, empty eyes. Across the chamber I saw Grimfang looking at me. His nostrils flared and he smiled, revealing massive fangs. He beckoned to me with one gauntleted hand and I could do little else but approach.
‘You do not seem to be drinking so fiercely this time as you once did,’ he said. It could have been taken as an insult by a man more suicidal than myself, but he was smiling in a way that was clearly meant to be friendly. It was hard to take the words in the spirit they were intended. Being smiled at by a Space Wolf is like being smiled at by a sabre-tooth.
‘I am older now and perhaps wiser,’ I said. He laughed. There was wild mirth in the sound that echoed through the room. It was a contagious sound, although from anyone else it would have sounded crazed. ‘I find my stomach cannot take strong drink as well as it once did.’
‘You did not dishonour yourself the last time,’ he said.
‘I thank you,’ I said. There seemed little else to say.
‘Logan Grimnar speaks well of you,’ the Great Wolf said. ‘You would do me honour by serving as my cupbearer.’
I looked over at Macharius. Much as I disliked the idea of refusing the Great Wolf anything, Macharius was my commander and it was him that I obeyed. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
I stood beside the Great Wolf and poured his drinks. It was a sign of favour, not a form of being demeaned, and I recognised it for what it was. Thus I came to be standing by the high table during the last exchange between Macharius and the Great Wolf.
‘We have come to bid you farewell, General Macharius,’ said Grimfang.
‘Farewell?’ Macharius frowned slightly. He was clearly calculating all the possible consequences of this declaration.
‘We depart for the Gothic Sector. There is an orkish invasion there and we must fight.’
‘There is fighting to be done here yet and glory to be gained,’ said Macharius. He raised a glass and toasted the Great Wolf. Grimfang responded in kind, then said, ‘It is as you say, but we have a duty to the Imperium and its defenceless people. Succour has been requested and we must grant it.’