It was Siress Venenum who dared to shatter the shocked silence that came in the wake of Dorn’s intrusion. ‘Lord Astartes,’ she began, desperately trying to rein in her fear. ‘This is a sanctum of–’
The Imperial Fist did not even grace her with a look. He advanced towards the rosewood table and folded his arms across his titanic chest. ‘Here you are,’ he said, addressing his comments towards Valdor. ‘I told you our conversation was not ended, Custodian.’
‘You should not be here, Lord Dorn,’ he replied.
‘Neither should you,’ snapped the primarch, his voice like breaking stones. ‘But you brought both of us to it. To this… place of subterfuge.’ He said the last word as if it revolted him.
‘This place is not within your authority, Astartes.’ The voice of the Master of Assassins was altered and shifted, but still the edge of challenge was clear for all to hear.
‘At this moment, it is…’ Dorn turned his cold glare on the mirrored face staring up at him. ‘My Lord Malcador.’
A thrill of surprise threaded across the room, as every one of the Sires and Siresses turned to stare at the Master.
‘I knew it…’ hissed Culexus. ‘I always knew you were the Sigillite!’
‘This is a day of revelations,’ muttered Sire Vanus.
‘I have just begun,’ Dorn rumbled.
With a sigh, Malcador reached up and removed the silver mask, setting it down on the table. He frowned, and an eddy of restrained telepathic annoyance rippled through the air. ‘Well done, my friend. You’ve broken open an enigma.’
‘Not really,’ Dorn replied. ‘I made an educated guess. You confirmed it.’
The Sigillite’s frown became a brief, intent grimace. ‘A victory for the Imperial Fists, then. Still, I have many more secrets.’
The warrior-king turned. ‘But no more here today.’ He glared at the other members of the Officio. ‘Masks off,’ he demanded. ‘All of you! I will not speak with those of such low character who hide their faces. Your voices carry no import unless you have the courage to place your name to them. Show yourselves.’ The threat beneath his words did not need to break the surface.
There was a moment of hush; then movement. Sire Vindicare was first, pulling the spy mask from his face as if he were glad to be rid of it. Then Sire Eversor, who angrily tossed his fang-and-bone disguise on to the table. Siress Callidus slipped the silk from her dainty face, and Vanus and Venenum followed suit. Sire Culexus was last, opening up his gleaming skull mask like an elaborate metal flower.
The assassins looked upon their naked identities for the first time and there was a mixture of potent emotions: anger, recognition, amusement.
‘Better,’ said Dorn.
‘Now you have stripped us of our greatest weapon, Astartes,’ said Siress Callidus, a fall of rust-red hair lying unkempt over a pale face. ‘Are you satisfied?’
The primarch glanced over his shoulder. ‘Brother-Captain Efried?’
One of the Imperial Fists at the door stepped forwards and handed a device to his commander, and in turn Dorn placed it on the table and slid it towards Sire Vanus.
‘It’s a data-slate,’ he said.
‘My warriors intercepted a starship beyond the edge of the Oort Cloud, attempting to vector into the Sol system,’ Dorn told them. ‘It identified itself as a common freighter, the Hallis Faye. A name I imagine some of you might recognise.’
‘The crew…?’ began Sire Eversor.
‘None to speak of,’ offered Captain Efried.
Dorn pointed at the slate. ‘That contains a datum capsule recovered from the vessel’s mnemonic core. Mission logs. Vox recordings and vid-picts.’ He glanced at Malcador and the Custodian. ‘What is spoken of there is troubling.’
The Sigillite nodded towards Sire Vanus. ‘Show us.’
Vanus used a hair-fine connector to plug the slate into the open panel before him, and immediately the images in the ghostly hololith flickered and changed to a new configuration of data-panes.
At the fore was a vox thread, and it began to unspool as a man’s voice, thick with pain, filled the air. ‘My name is Eristede Kell. Assassin-at-Marque of the Clade Vindicare, Epsilon-dan… And I have defied my orders.’
Valdor listened in silence along with the rest of them, first to Kell’s words, and then to fragments of the infocyte Tariel’s interim logs. When Sire Vanus opened the kernel of data containing the vid-records from Iota’s final moments, he watched in mute disgust at the abomination that was the Black Pariah. As this horror unfolded before them, Sire Culexus bent forwards and quietly wept.
They listened to it all; the discovery of military situation on Dagonet and the plan to reignite the dying embers of the planet’s civil war; Jenniker Soalm’s rejection of the mission in favour of her own; the assassination of Sedirae in Horus’s stead and the brutal retribution it engendered; and at last, the existence of and lethal potential within the creature that called itself Spear, and the choice that the Execution Force had been forced to make.
When they had heard as much as was necessary, the Sigillite shouted at Sire Vanus to cease the playback. Valdor surveyed the faces of the clade directors. Each in their own way struggled to process what they had been brought by the Imperial Fists.
Sire Eversor, confusion in his gaze, turned on the Culexus. ‘That freakish monstrosity… you created that? For Terra’s sake, cousin, tell me this is not so!’
‘I gave the orders myself!’ insisted the psyker. ‘It was destroyed!’
‘Apparently not,’ Dorn replied, his jaw tightening.
‘But it is dead now, yes?’ said Sire Vanus. ‘It must be…’
Dorn’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘A narrow view. That is all your kind ever possess. Do you not understand what you have done? Your so-called attempts at a surgical assault against Horus have become nothing of the kind!’ His voice rose, like the sound of storm-tossed waves battering a shoreline. ‘Sedirae’s death has cost the lives of an entire planet’s population! The Sons of Horus have taken revenge on a world because of what your assassins did there!’ He shook his head. ‘If the counter-rebellion on Dagonet had been allowed to fade, if their war had not been deliberately and callously exacerbated, Horus would have passed them by. After my brothers and I have broken his betrayal, the Imperium would have retaken control of Dagonet. But now its devastation leads to the collapse of keystone worlds all across that sector! Now the traitors take a strong foothold there, and it will be my battle-brothers and those of my kindred who must bleed to oust them!’ He pointed at them all in turn. ‘This is what you leave behind you. This is what your kind always leave behind.’
Valdor could remain silent no longer and he stepped forward. ‘The suffering on Dagonet is a tragedy, none will deny that,’ he said, ‘and yes, Horus has escaped our retribution once more. But a greater cause has been served, Lord Dorn. Kell and his force chose to preserve your father in exchange for letting your errant brother live. This assassin-creature Spear is dead, and a great threat to the Emperor’s life has been neutralised. I would consider that a victory.’
‘Would you?’ Dorn’s fury was palpable, crackling in the air around him. ‘I’m sure my father is capable of defending himself! And tell me, Captain-General, what kind of victory exists in a war like the one you would have us fight?’ He gestured at the room around them. ‘A war fought from hidden places under cover of falsehood? Innocent lives wasted in the name of dubious tactics? Underhanded, clandestine conflicts, fuelled by secrets and lies?’