His companion was a woman of similar age, hair dyed purple and blue, swept back from her skull like a teardrop, whose black cloak dangled with stolen scalps, hands crooked around a tall rifle. A sniper, then — another warrior of the tribe.
Two fools, staggering into the presence of their lord to register their dissent, each silently praying that the other would speak first. Sahaal watched them without movement. He knew how to deal with insubordination.
'My lord?' the woman said after a long pause, unsure whether he was awake. 'M-my lord, may we address you?'
Sahaal let the silence roll, enjoying their squirms.
'Master, we seek an audience...' the man said, prostrating himself beside his fellow.
'Speak,' Sahaal voxed finally, enjoying the thrill of horror that passed across their faces.
Again, the woman found her nerve first.
'M-my lord, we... We are unsure of this place. The hunters have found little to eat and the tribe is hungry. W-we...' she faltered, glancing at the man for support.
'We don't understand why you've brought us here,' he said, the accusation firm in his voice. 'We don't understand what you intend for us. Are we to continue our holy purges, or...'
'Or do you have some new task for us?' the woman's voice too grew more confident with each word. 'We... we would understand your wishes.'
An uncomfortable silence settled. Sahaal decided to probe the depths of this dissatisfaction, impressed by their audacity.
'Have I not given command,' he said, 'that the man named Slake be brought to me?'
'Y-yes my lord, but—'
'Have I not given command that the tribe fortify itself?'
'You have, but—'
'Have I not led you when leadership was needed, and commanded you when command was required?'
'You have, my lord.'
He stood and raised the volume of his voxcaster, towering above them.
'Why then, thrice-damned, do you stand before me to question my orders!'
'We mean no insult, lord!' It was almost a squeal. 'We only seek to understand! The tribe is uncertain!'
In that instant, with the woman's silent glimpse into the shadows, Sahaal grasped the magnitude of his problem. This pair were not operating alone, he saw, not a protesting minority amongst a whole. No, they were representatives — great warriors elected to present the clan's discontent to its leader.
'Preysight,' Sahaal whispered, and again the lenses of his eyes blazed with magnified acuity, penetrating the shadows. And yes... yes, there they were: the elders and the youngsters, the women and children and warriors of the tribe, all of them gathered to listen beyond the circle of light around the throne, all of them hungry for answers.
His rule was not as secure as he had thought.
He needed the tribe.
'What heresy is this?' he roared, brandishing his claws. 'What filth is this!'
The two warriors shivered on the floor and he advanced towards them, step by murderous step.
'What pitiful circumstance has brought me to you! The whole hive is lost to the dark, the population corrupted by the taint, and this is my army? These are my loyal crusaders?' He spread his arms and addressed the dark ceiling of the cavern, theatrical even in his rage. 'A tribe of disloyal fools and simpering traitors! A mob who reject the word of the Emperor's chosen because they do not understand it!'
He shrieked the words until the cavern shuddered and, oh — it hurt to claim such a link to the withered god, but...
But oh, it was delicious to see such terror in their eyes.
'Kneel!' he bellowed, and the young warriors obeyed without thought.
He would kill them, he resolved. He would behead them so the entire gang could watch, and all of them would know the price of disquiet, the consequence of insolence. They would obey him, or face his wrath.
It was an inelegant ultimatum — he knew that as soon as he decided it. He needed the Shadowkin as his allies — the recovery of the Corona depended upon it — and if he must kill nine in every ten to secure the obedience of those that remained, his army would be small indeed.
But there was no other choice, no option but to let fly his rage, to hack off these two heads — and any other that dared question him.
Yes. It was necessary.
And secretly, silently, a dark portion of his mind giggled to itself and said: Yes, yes, make your excuses... Deny that you cherish the slaughter... Peddle your pretend-honour as much as you like.
It will do you no good, Night Lord.
You're a monster. And you know it.
He raised his claws and felt the silence of expectation: a hundred eyes regarding him from the shadows, a hundred gasps burning in his ears. The condemned warriors moaned low in their throats, and—
And a commotion arose across the still waters, faint lights wending their way towards the distant shore.
It was the scouts Sahaal had left in the Steel Forest, and with his vision sharpened he could see they were carrying a survivor.
It was Condemnitor Chianni, and as the rafts slunk out from the rusted island to return her to her tribe, her fevered moans rose in volume to echo through the swamps.
'H-hail!' she yowled, delirious. 'Hail the Emperor's angel!'
It was like a shaft of light, striking Sahaal in his moment of rage. His thin lips curled in a smile and slowly, banishing that secret voice to the rear of his mind, he sheathed his claws.
Obedience could be secured through loyalty as well as terror. Sahaal's master had understood that.
Condemnitor Chianni was loyal to him. They were loyal to her. It was not a complex manipulation.
'Behold the Emperor's mercy!' Sahaal said, inventing wildly. 'He spares those that are wise, and offers redemption to those who are not.' He waved the condemned warriors away, returning to his throne.
'Ave Imperator!' filtered across the waters, Chianni's plaintive cry repeating over and over.
'You should listen to your leader,' Sahaal said to the warriors' retreating backs, repressing a chuckle at his own good fortune. 'She is far wiser than you.'
Her leg had been peppered by shrapnel from the explosion, and her throat crushed by an inelegant swipe of a vindictor's maul. When her bearers reached the foot of his throne she nonetheless insisted upon standing, staggering as best she could to kneel before him.
'My lord,' she croaked, voice forever changed by the bruise across her neck, 'I am gladdened to see you. I feared the worst when I awoke to find the tribe gone.' Her eyes blinked with joyful tears. 'Emperor be praised that they — and you — are safe.'
Sahaal was uncomfortable with such unrestrained warmth, and struggled to find an answer. The condemnitor's return to the Shadowkin had effected an almost miraculous transformation, all their sullenness and suspicion crumbling upon itself, becoming devotion once more. It was as if they had been waiting to have their zeal directed, as if their obeisance was without question but, lacking an interface, had become cold and bitter. None of them had relished facing their demigod master themselves, and only via the mediating presence of their leader could they direct their energies.
By the mere art of worshipping him, Condemnitor Chianni had abruptly become his most vital resource. He breathed a thankful prayer to the spirit of his master for returning her to his side in his moment of need.
'Rest,' he instructed her, accepting her grasping supplications without any outward display of chagrin. 'Restore your strength.'