Architect of Fate Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Warhammer 40,000

  Maps

  Accursed Eternity

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  Sanctus

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Endeavour of Will

  Part One

  Part Two

  Part Three

  Fateweaver

  I

  II

  III

  About the Authors

  Legal

  eBook license

  Warhammer 40,000

  It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.

  Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse.

  To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

  ACCURSED ETERNITY

  I

  +++

  Amaranthine encrypted message, code Theta Gamma Four Three Nine. Captain Tanek of the Star Dragons Sixth Company, presently designated commanding officer of Containment Fleet Kappa, hear this on the order of the Ordo Malleus. I send you greetings and demand your immediate compliance. There has been a reported sighting of the vessel matching archive description of the Accursed Eternity.

  By the power vested in me and through my position within the Holy Ordos, you are ordered to bring your fleet to the coordinates I will transmit following this message. This sighting warrants an immediate investigation and your fleet is the closest available. I will speak with you in person upon your arrival.

  Message ends.

  +++

  It drifted without direction, carried by the endless tides of space. Partially curtained by a swirling dust cloud, it loomed out of the darkness like a monstrous leviathan surfacing in a ponderous climb from the mighty deeps for a lungful of life-giving air. The analogy was not entirely without basis.

  Surrounded on all sides by ruthless escort vessels, the ship was a thing of legend and myth. It may once have been a battle-barge – but since nobody had ever destroyed its companion fleet, no one had ever gotten close enough to find out exactly what it was, or who it belonged to. It responded to no hails. As soon as any fleet was sent to investigate, inexplicable warp storms blew up and the thing was gone. At most, it had only ever remained visible for five hours: barely long enough for its presence to even register. Chaos, however, inevitably followed in its wake, along with other companions: madness, corruption and death.

  It had earned itself the name Accursed Eternity over the many years that it had been spotted. Most people dismissed it as a ghost story, a tale whispered by the ratings who toiled in the sub-levels; tales that were shared with amusement by junior officers. Veterans of the void found little laughter in such things. They knew better than to dismiss the evils of the warp so easily.

  A ghost ship. The spectral echo of a vessel lost to the tides. Perhaps, the stories went, it was filled with the shackled spirits of its former crew, bound in eternal torment. Perhaps seductive sirens of ruinous powers inhabited its empty decks just waiting to lure an innocent victim to a death most unworthy.

  Whatever was on board had to be a product of the warp. On that, the stories all agreed. There had to be something or someone deeply important hidden within its twisted hull to warrant the escort that it brought with it, but it was not a prize that mortal men dared attempt to reach out and snatch.

  One hundred years had passed since the last time the full fleet had been spied. One hundred years, during which the tale of its nature had had time to evolve and distort, until it became something it was not. It became a legend. It became a myth. The recovered records of the battle a century before had never been corroborated. It was believed that nobody would ever truly discover the facts of the deaths at Balanor.

  In the past few decades the appearance of the lone ship itself had increased in regularity and yet it had only ever been sighted in passing, a glimpse – an idea – of something that may or may not have been a battle-barge. Descriptions of the ship never suggested anything physically abnormal; it was the same as any other of its kind, despite the legends surrounding it. No external markings of allegiance had been reported and the overall condition of the ship remained largely unknown.

  It became synonymous with bad luck. To see the Accursed Eternity, even if only for a fleeting moment, was a premonition of doom and destruction.

  In the wake of the fleet’s sudden, unexplained appearance, the astropathic choirs of the Imperium of Mankind came to urgent life as a suitable, expedient response was sought. Increasingly frantic messages were transmitted back and forth, and were then met by a cool, calm and very deliberate response.

  +++

  By the command of the Ordo Malleus of the Holy Inquisition, the Balanor system and all vessels therein are deemed traitoris in extremis. In His name, we come.

  This situation is now under our control.

  +++

  The situation was anything but under control. The small Ordo Malleus fleet had ripped into real space with its guns already fully charged and ready to unleash the wrath of their kind. Batteries of weapons pounded relentlessly against the encroaching Chaos fleet, constant streams of light razoring through the endless darkness. For a time, a brief and incredible moment, it seemed that they would achieve their objective. For a fleeting second it seemed that they had the upper hand. The Chaos ships looked as though they were preparing for a retreat. But they weren’t.

  There were five vessels in the Chaos fleet, each one unidentifiable but for a proudly displayed eight-pointed star emblem emblazoned across their prows, and as one they peeled from the ship they escorted. Turning with excruciating slowness, they broke from their prescribed path and plunged headlong into the Inquisitorial fleet. Four escort ships were destroyed instantly, caught in the path of the cruisers
as they accelerated and torn to pieces. Debris, fuel and corpses dribbled from the broken vessels and briefly cluttered the path of the strike cruisers. The Chaos vessels cut a steady path through the carnage.

  Not a single shot left the gunnery decks of the Chaos fleet. Every death they caused came from the fact that they rammed without hesitation into the ships of the Ordo Malleus.

  Doggedly determined, the Inquisition held their ground with implacable and commendable ferocity. They re-engaged the Chaos ships and eliminated two of them with a savage and unrelenting volley of fire from their main cannons. Yet, when the ships were destroyed, there was nothing to prove that they had ever existed. No twisted, broken metal, no trails or wisps of smoke… Nothing. It was simply as though they had never been.

  It was only when the Inquisition fleet had battled the enemy down to equal numbers, that they put the call out for Containment Fleet Kappa.

  Mistress Kerys Jabiru, Primaris Astropath on board the Star Dragons flagship Ladon, was a thin woman. At one time in her life, she might have been considered slim, willowy and graceful, but the simple fact of the matter now was that she was almost painfully undernourished. The years in service to the Imperium had robbed her of any youth, beauty and vitality that might once have been admirable. Her life in servitude to the Throne of Terra had taken its toll on her, physically and mentally. But despite that, she was still able to hold herself proudly.

  There was nothing even slightly womanly in her motion as she walked at great speed through the ship’s dimly-lit corridors, no sensuality or feminine fluidity in her stride. She walked in a manner not unlike a strutting, long-legged water bird. Even her head bobbed slightly with every step she took. It was a gait that might have been considered comical by those whose dispositions tended towards the unkind.

  Even blind as she was, her psychic senses guided her with skill and effortless ease through the sprawling vessel. Her speed only began to hint at the true sense of urgency she felt. Since she had received and relayed the message from the Inquisition, orders had begun flying back and forth, but this one was a personal missive for the captain and she was, if she would only admit it to herself, curious to see how its contents were received.

  Kerys had served the Star Dragons for more than twenty years, girl and woman, and whilst she retained the proper sense of awe and respect for the Adeptus Astartes, she had, over the years, built up a comfortable rapport with the captain of Sixth Company. She was not afraid of him.

  Not too afraid, at least.

  It was hard not to like Captain Tanek. Although a fierce, stern and allegedly brutal warrior on the field of battle, when the armour came off and the other side of him was in force, there was a certain affability about him. He treated his company – and those who served them – with fairness and he actively encouraged those aboard to speak their minds. Such openness, he declared, was an important trait. His men virtually idolised him; the mortal crew component of the Ladon actually did idolise him. He found it faintly uncomfortable and did whatever he could to dissuade such adulation. Such modesty was becoming and, if anything, made the situation worse.

  Kerys turned a corner and slowed her pace. The skin of her pale cheeks, papery and dry as a result of the recycled air of the Ladon’s environment, was touched with two spots of pink from her exertions. Her greying hair, tied back in a severe knot at the back of her head, had come free and thin, wispy strands hung untidily around her pinched face. Pursing her lips tightly, she spent a few moments tucking the escaped hair back into the knot. It would not do to present herself before Captain Tanek looking so dishevelled.

  The ship, which had been ripping through the warp for several hours since the receipt of the initial message, was not travelling smoothly and a sudden shifting of the floor beneath her feet made her stumble. She threw out her arms to balance herself and the ship lurched immediately in the other direction throwing her completely off-balance. Before she could fall, however, a hand reached out and caught her. A strong hand that fully encircled her upper arm with room to spare. One of the Star Dragons.

  ‘Mistress Jabiru.’ A rich, warm voice sounded and a flicker of a smile came onto her face.

  ‘Sergeant Korydon.’ She was pleased by the tone of respect and concern in the warrior’s voice and she turned her blind face towards him. Her hands came up in the sign of the aquila and she bowed her head to show equal respect for the Adeptus Astartes.

  ‘I presume you are walking to the Clutch? I would consider it an honour if you would let me escort you. The passage through the empyrean is rough and I would be deeply distressed if you were to fall.’

  His manners were impeccable and she could not find it in herself to be offended. She had never seen Korydon, but she conversed with him often. He was a serious warrior with a dry, often sarcastic sense of humour that complemented Tanek’s straight talking style admirably. She had never been able to gauge the age of any of the Star Dragons, but all the clues she had pulled together from his presence at the Clutch had led her to deduce that Korydon was comparatively young. This close, she could smell the unique aroma that seemed to accompany all of the Adeptus Astartes: a mixture of gun oils and armour abrasives, and the faintest hint of sweet incense that suggested he had not long left the ship’s chapel. She straightened her shoulders.

  ‘I would be equally honoured for you to escort me, Sergeant Korydon.’

  ‘Of course, Mistress Jabiru.’

  She felt him take her hand and place it on his bare forearm so that he could guide her safely through the unsteady corridors of the Ladon. Although she would never openly voice the opinion, she was rather glad of his strong, steady support. The speed with which the Star Dragons and the Blood Swords were heeding the Inquisition’s call was both alarming and unsettling. The news she brought now to the ears of the captain was equally disturbing.

  Suddenly, she felt very glad for Korydon’s presence. She had a deep-seated feeling that today’s Clutch was going to become complicated very swiftly.

  The Clutch was the name given to the daily meeting of the Ladon’s key personnel. During the Clutch any and all problems were brought to the table and orders shared out. It was a functional thing, rarely coloured with any sort of excitement. But a vessel the size of the strike cruiser needed to run smoothly and Tanek, whose sense of organisation was second to none, ran an exceptionally tight ship.

  Led into the strategium by Korydon, Kerys paused before the statue of the Emperor. There was such a palpable aura of faith around it that it was not hard to locate it. She almost absently muttered the litany of guidance and thanked the sergeant as he led her to her given place at the table.

  It was several minutes later that she heard the captain’s voice. It arrived into the strategium a moment before he did and Kerys turned her head towards the sound, her ears working to gauge what her eyes never could. The years of blindness had finely tuned her other senses to be far more receptive to her surroundings. There was a measure of impatience in his voice that suggested he was fractious and annoyed, but he tempered it with customary politeness.

  He was not alone as he entered; other footfalls echoed his own. Captain Khorvash of the Blood Swords, no doubt. The other captain had been on board the Ladon when the call had come from the Inquisition, and rather than travel back to his own vessel he had saved valuable time by remaining on board the Star Dragons craft. He had attended several Clutches over Kappa’s tour of duty and had always treated Kerys with due deference, albeit with the clear distrust so many showed towards those of a psychic bent.

  Her sharp thoughts almost absently brushed the minds of the two captains, and she marvelled at how two such god-like beings could project such different personalities without ever speaking a word. From what she understood, Khorvash was the younger of the two captains by several decades and it was clear, even to one as blind as she was, that he wore his youth proudly. There was arrogance in his voice and attitude that had not yet been tempered by experience. He was smart and he was eager. Yet,
despite the shared rank, he obviously deferred to the older warrior. From the cadence of his voice, and the extra distance it had to travel, she sensed that he respectfully kept a step or two behind Tanek, falling into place eventually at the captain’s right shoulder.

  There was another presence too; Kerys could hear him walking, but he chose not to announce himself. She inhaled and coughed slightly; whereas Korydon had smelt of incense and the chapel, the other newcomer positively reeked of it. Iakodos, she deduced. The only one of the Star Dragons she felt true fear towards.

  ‘Thank you all for your patience,’ said Tanek. He spoke in slow, almost indolent tones but offered no further explanation as to why he had arrived late. He was captain. It was his prerogative, and there was never any sense of haste or urgency about him. Kerys, who had heard many tales of Tanek’s battlefield valour knew that he was a deeply thoughtful soul who ensured that he had the full measure of his enemy before he ever took up arms. It was a trait endemic amongst the Star Dragons; they were fierce, implacable fighters.

  The Clutch continued as normal, each member present delivering any pertinent news. However, as Kerys had anticipated, due to their travels through the warp there was nothing that any of them could add. Korydon provided an update on the readiness of the company’s squads and the state of the armoury. Kerys was sure that the rest of the Star Dragons found it compelling but she found it painfully dull. Surprised at how bored she felt and realising this was due to the earlier anxiety at the need to deliver the latest message, she allowed her attention to drift.

  ‘Mistress Kerys? Any further communication?’

  Tanek’s voice had a slight hint of amusement and Kerys’s cheeks flushed as she realised he had already spoken her name once. She patted the back of her hair and coughed politely to clear her throat.

  ‘A repeat of the original request for help, my lord, perhaps sent on a relay. But, yes, there has been a further message received. It is… personal, Captain Tanek. I am under instruction to give the message to you and you alone.’