‘Others will speak it, brother.’
‘Others? Like you?’
Torgal shrugged a bare shoulder. ‘I am not ashamed to be angry, Argel Tal. We were wronged, and we’ve been walking the wrong path.’
Argel Tal stretched, working out the stiffness in his shoulder muscles. He took a moment to compose his reply. Torgal was a loudmouth, and he knew whatever he said would be carried to the rest of the company, perhaps even across to the rest of the Serrated Sun.
‘There’s more to this than whether the Emperor wronged us or not. We are a Legion founded on faith, and we find ourselves faithless. Anger is natural, but it is no answer. I will wait for the primarch to return to us, and I will hear his wisdom before I decide my path.’
Torgal couldn’t help but smile. ‘Listen to yourself. Are you sure you don’t want to carry a crozius? I’m sure Erebus would consider training you again. I’ve heard him express his regret to Xaphen more than once.’
‘You are an insidious presence in my life, brother.’ The captain’s scowl darkened his otherwise handsome features. His eyes were the blue of Colchisian summer skies, and his face – unscarred like so many of his brethren – still showed echoes of the human he might have been.
‘That ship sailed a long time ago,’ the captain said. ‘I made my choice, and the First Chaplain made his.’
‘But–’
‘Enough, Torgal. Old wounds can still ache. Has there been word of the primarch’s return?’
Torgal regarded Argel Tal closely, as if seeking something hidden in his eyes. ‘Not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?’
‘You know why. You’ve not heard anything from the Chaplain gatherings?’
Torgal shook his head. ‘They’re bound by oaths of secrecy that a few innocent questions won’t break. Have you spoken with Xaphen?’
‘Many times, and he reveals little. Erebus has the primarch’s ear, and delivers Aurelian’s words down to the warrior-priests at their conclaves. Xaphen promises we’ll be enlightened soon. The primarch’s seclusion will be a matter of weeks, not months.’
‘Do you believe that?’ Torgal asked.
Argel Tal laughed, the sound bitter and short. ‘Knowing what to believe is the greatest threat we face.’
Cyrene was asleep the next time she received a worthwhile visitor. The sound of her door sliding open roused her to a layer of rest slightly above unconsciousness.
‘Go away, Kale. I’m not hungry.’ She rolled over and covered her head with the ungenerous pillow. Evidently the monkish, scarce comforts of the Legion’s warriors extended to their servants, as well.
‘Kale?’ asked a deep, resonant voice.
Cyrene removed the pillow. Coppery saliva tingled under her tongue, and her heart beat a touch faster.
‘Hello?’ she called.
‘Who is Kale?’ the voice asked.
Cyrene sat up, her blind eyes flicking left and right in futile instinct. ‘Kale is the servitor that brings me my meals.’
‘You named your servitor?’
‘It was the name of a meat vendor in the Tophet Plaza. He was lynched for selling dog meat instead of lamb, and sentenced to penance for his deceit.’
‘I see. Appropriate, then.’
The stranger moved around the cell with the light whisper of robes. Cyrene could feel the change in the air – the newcomer was a hulking figure, imposing beyond her blindness.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘I thought you would recognise my voice. It is Xaphen.’
‘Oh. Angels sound very similar to me. All of your voices are so low. Hello, Chaplain.’
‘Hello again, shuhl-asha.’
She kept the wince from her face. Even the respectful term for her trade shamed her, when spoken in an angel’s voice. ‘Where is Argel Tal?’
Xaphen growled, like a desert jackal at bay. It took a few seconds for Cyrene to realise it was a chuckle.
‘The captain is attending a gathering of Legion commanders.’
‘Why are you not with him?’
‘Because I am not a commander, and I had my own duties to attend to. A conclave of the Chaplain brotherhood, aboard the Inviolate Sanctity.’
‘Argel Tal told me of those.’
Xaphen’s smile infected his tone, rendering the words almost kindly. ‘Did he? And what did he tell you?’
‘That the primarch speaks to one named Erebus, and Erebus carries the lord’s words to the warrior-priests.’
‘True enough, shuhl-asha. I was told your vision is still not showing signs of return. The adepts are considering augmetic replacements.’
‘Replacing my eyes?’ She felt her skin crawl. ‘I... I wish to wait, to see if they heal.’
‘It is your choice. Augmetics of delicate organs are specialised and rare. If you wish to have them, there would be a wait of several weeks before they were ready for implantation.’
The angel’s clinical tone was curiously unnerving. He delivered his blunt, kindly sentences with all the care of a hammer to the head.
‘Why are they considering it?’ Cyrene asked.
‘Because Argel Tal asked it of them. The Apothecarion on board De Profundis has the resources necessary for human augmentation, when it comes to valued mortal crew.’
‘But I am of no value.’ She didn’t speak from self-pity, merely gave voice to her confusion. ‘I do not know how I could ever serve the Legion.’
‘No?’ Xaphen said nothing for a several moments. Perhaps he looked around the featureless chamber. His voice was gentler when it returned. ‘Forgive my laxity in visiting you, shuhl-asha. The last days have been difficult. Allow me to cast some light on your situation.’
‘Am I a slave?’
‘What? No.’