Clear of the tower’s edge, Crowl piled on the power and the Shade leapt into straight-line speed, streaking down the chasm between spire trunks. The drones kept pace for a while, firing sporadically, but soon they were back into Terran airspace and other vehicles began to cluster in front of them. At last the drones fell back, boosting upwards and swinging away towards the vast hulk of the Skhallax tower complex.
Crowl maintained full speed for a while longer, weaving through the steadily growing volume of aircraft. Slate-grey spire flanks soared up around them, dully reflecting the raging infernos at their base, and the labyrinthine street levels were once more congested with the raucous progress of the pilgrim cavalcades.
Revus steadily deactivated the bolter-array, checked over the ammunition levels, and sat back in his seat. ‘We didn’t learn much,’ he said, taking out his hellpistol to examine the power levels.
Crowl slowly reduced power to the main engines, letting the Shade drop to coasting speed. The tactical readout on the console showed the last of the servitor-drones falling behind and swerving back into the ambit of the enclave.
‘We learned they were happy to kill us,’ Crowl said, thoughtfully. ‘Even, for a while, in the open. Consider that, Revus — they were prepared to down an Inquisition flyer within sight of major hab-spires. I could start to get offended.’
He eased further down on the control columns, bringing the Shade within the main clusters of churning air traffic. The furnaces became more concentrated, making it seem as if they were flying down a volcanic crevasse.
‘Take the controls,’ Crowl said, letting go of the column. As Revus assumed flight-command, he reached for the vox-capsule retrieved from the interior. ‘What do we make of this? Has the Mechanicus hierarchy lost its mind? Or is this a local difficulty with Skhallax? That priest mentioned Quantrain — not the first time he’s come up.’
Revus said nothing. His armour was peppered with fresh burns. A long gouge ran along his left shoulder-pad, tracing the path of a galvanic shot that had almost found its mark.
‘Time to see what we recovered,’ Crowl said, placing the capsule in a socket in his armour’s gorget and hearing the hiss of the data-shunt. His retinal feed brought up a cipher requester, and Crowl blink-matched it with his level clearance. There was a further hiss as the audex was reassembled. A second later, and a recording crackled out loud.
‘Summary report, Inquisitor Hovash Phaelias, the Ordo Xenos, Skhallax catacombs. I will be brief — I am detected and I fear their numbers are too great to evade. They have already killed Bors, and only I remain. I know not on whose orders they act, but I suspect Quantrain. The facts: this goes all the way to the Palace. I do not know the numbers, but we are betrayed from within. The cargo was taken here, I am sure of it, but the scheme has gone awry. There has been fighting. They have tried to contain it, but it has caused damage and they are struggling. I still do not know its precise nature, but that alone is justification for my concern. If it leaves this place I do not know where it is headed — I assume the Palace itself. Supposition — does the Feast make the Gate less secure?’
Crowl listened grimly. Phaelias didn’t sound scared, only resigned.
‘If this audex device is uncovered, these are the salient points. Inquisitor-Lord Flavius Quantrain is a traitor to the Holy Throne. His agents are the primary facilitators and are behind the destruction of my retinue. I do not yet understand his motivation for corruption, but there is a link with the heretic known as the False Angel, in whose name the underhives are being mobilised for rebellion. Quantrain’s sponsors are within the Council of Terra. I say it again, Quantrain’s sponsors are within the Council of Terra. Every attempt I have made to probe further has been repelled. I venture the supposition, without firm evidence and subject to Level Nine doubt, that the Fabricator General of Mars and the Speaker of the Chartist Captains are prime movers.’
Revus, who could hear the testimony as well as Crowl, remained stony-faced. Gorgias’ eye dulled to a disbelieving auburn.
‘A final thing. If I should die here, the only one of my company now unaccounted for is the Shoba assassin Niir Khazad. She is as faithful a servant of the Throne as ever lived. I would see her preserved.’
The audex feed began to corrupt. Crashes, muffled and in the distance, crackled in the background, as if something was trying to break down a sealed doorway.
‘No more time. I trust He will guide a loyal soul to this device, should it be needed. Ave Imperator! Death to His foes!’
Another crash, closer this time, and the feed gave out.
For a while, no one said anything. The Shade powered on, flying sub-optimally due to the gash in its wing.
‘Where to?’ Revus asked eventually. They were pulling back into the southern reaches of Malliax. Salvator was the next conurbation-zone in line, after which the grids marched onwards and onwards, steadily building up in magnificence until they reached the megaliths of the Outer Palace.
Still Crowl gave no answer. Gorgias hovered concernedly, for once venturing no opinion.
‘He is Hereticus,’ Crowl said eventually, through a clenched jawline. The anger was palpable. ‘Quantrain is of my ordo. If this has any truth to it…’
‘Only guesses,’ ventured Revus.
‘More than guesses,’ said Crowl. ‘He was hunted. We are hunted.’ His face, normally severe, became as black as the thunderheads above them. ‘A hive-ganger reads a proscribed text and we skin him alive even though the harm is slight. A Lord of Terra leaves a trail of blood from here to the Holy Steps and we cannot touch him for fear of our damned souls. No, that will not be borne. He must answer for this, if I have to damn myself to hear his words.’
‘Then we seek him now?’ asked Revus, who would have spoken as coolly if he’d been ordered into the Eye of Terror.
Crowl laughed. ‘He dwells inside — you understand this? Even I cannot enter the precincts without cause, and if we breathe a word of it.’ He broke off, suddenly remembering. ‘But it’s the Gate. The Feast ends at the
Gate. That is the danger.’
Gorgias began to get more agitated. ‘Burn-burn,’ he chirped. ‘Slay in toto hereticus maleficare.’
‘Quite,’ said Crowl. ‘For once we are in accord. Revus, set a course for the Imperial Palace. I care not if they aim every defence laser on the walls at us — we have to get there before the Rites conclude.’
‘As you will it,’ Revus acknowledged, turning the Nighthawk northwards. ‘But you know the guns will be active.’
‘You worry about the flying,’ said Crowl, already bringing up the vox-sequence that would — with luck — summon the attention of Navradaran. ‘I’ll worry about getting us in.’
Hegain was not happy about the inclusion of Khazad into the hunting party. He looked at her with an expression of studied loathing, keeping a hand ostentatiously close to his hellgun butt. Khazad herself remained entirely indifferent.
‘And you are sure of this, lord?’ Hegain asked, his voice part-obscured by the roar of the grounded Nighthawk’s engines.
‘Perfectly, sergeant. She has the location of our target.’
‘I have a fix on the Militarum conv-’
‘That has been superseded. Check your helm-feed.’
Hegain bowed, a little stiffly, and returned to the cockpit, his webbing rippling wildly against his armour-plates as he stepped across the intake of the engines.
Spinoza looked at Khazad. ‘Ready?’
The assassin nodded, pushing her bobbed hair back and replacing her helm. ‘Is not far.’
The two of them clambered into the crew-bay, leaving Hegain to pilot the gunship. The hatches slammed closed, the engines powered up to full tilt, and the interior swayed as they gained loft. Then they were plunging steeply, dropping over the side of the bridge and back down into the depths.