Brothers of the Snake

Author:Dan Abnett
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-09-08T12:59:36.599118+00:00

Dan Abnett «Brothers of the Snake»

of repulsor energy. Priad's visor-view suddenly fogged and scrambled.

'Open your visor,' he heard Mabuse say, his words dulled by Priad's armour.

Priad undid the magna-lock and removed his helmet, looking down into Mabuse's eyes.

'Don't worry,' Mabuse said, gesturing lightly to his hovering digit. 'It's generating an anti-vox/pict field around us so we can speak openly. There is danger here, Priad.'

'Danger? What danger?'

Mabuse shrugged. 'I don't know. Not yet. I've been here six weeks, since the old queen died. It is standard practice for the Inquisition to send a representative to investigate the death of any significant Imperial potentate, and Queen Gartrude, may the Emperor gather her to himself, was certainly that.'

'Foul play?'

'Oh, most certainly. She was murdered. But in such an exquisitely subtle way, it looked like the action of old age.'

'Murdered?'

'Yes. The Medicae Royal missed the signs, but I am certain.'

'Then it must be reported! It must—'

Mabuse reached out with his golden hand and rested it on Priad's armoured sleeve. It was a curiously bold yet informal gesture and Priad fell silent at once, out of surprise more than anything else.

'Knowing she was murdered is not the point, brother-sergeant. Knowing why and by whom is the job of the Inquisition.'

'The boy… the new king. He would have most to gain,' said Priad.

Mabuse chuckled. 'You are a greater warrior than I will ever be, Brother-Sergeant Priad. But you are no detective.'

'I—'

'Hush. King Elect Naldo is not the culprit. Of that, I am assured. I had considered that possibility. No, the regicide is down to someone else. Person or persons as yet unknown. I have suspicions. I may be able to act on them soon. For now, I simply wish to broker peace between us, Priad. Indulge me and keep my mission secret. When the time comes, I may have need of the mighty Iron Snakes.'

IV

THAT NIGHT, ONCE the duties in the great hall were done, Damocles went without rest. In the lamp-lit gloom of the apartments provided for them, they waited and loitered, wargear loosened or partially stripped off. Some talked into the night. Others ate and drank from the rich fares provided, just for the novelty. Xander hand-wrestled with Aekon and Andromak. Old Pindor played a game of regicide with Scyllon.

Priad watched them move the pieces across the inlaid board. How inappropriate, he thought to himself.

He opened a glazed brass hatch and let himself out onto the balcony that terraced their apartment level. The night was warm, with the scents of dune-orchids and exhaust fumes on the dry desert air. Straits of silvery cloud barred the moon and shone against a sky as dark and purple as fresh heart muscle. Lit by a soft amber radiance, the city lurked beneath him. Dots of light, the running lamps of air traffic, muddled along the canyons of streets below. Occasionally, a higher altitude transport hummed past, soaring between the gilded spires.

Priad rested his bare hands on the balcony rail and looked down. The lights of the traffic made a long glittering river, like a kraretyer, a giant bull-wyrm, rising to bask.

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