Dreadwing by David Guymer

Author:David Guymer
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-09-26T07:42:30+00:00

II

It hurt to stand, but appearances and the honour of the Lion demanded that Holguin make the attempt. With both palms flat to the table, he pushed himself up from his chair. Back straight, head up, eyes unwavering on the door, he stood. Situated directly across from him, Farith Redloss mirrored him exactly.

The Thagrian delegation entered.

The chamber in which the Lion had chosen to receive them was a more spartan, utilitarian space than the grand halls of his strategium, the command bridge and its annexes being no place for those not of the Legion. A single ovoid table of lacquered wood stood surrounded by chairs for an even dozen, with little room for more even should they have elected to stand. There were no banners or ostentation, no woodwork to hide the steel-frame utility of the bulkheads. The only ornament was a pewter bust of the Lord Cypher mounted on the wall above the head of the table where it could observe. The message was clear: Caliban may have been many light years distant, but the Guardian of the Order was still watching.

Directly beneath its gaze, in a chair that was half again larger than Holguin’s and reinforced with steel, the Lion remained seated. His chin rested on the steepled roof of his fingers, hard green eyes marking and assessing the worth of each of the six magi as they ushered themselves towards chairs at the far end of the table from the two Dark Angels and their primarch.

Once all were seated and had quieted their babbling, the Lion nodded.

It was the barest of gestures, hardly noticeable at all except to those who knew him best and were stood by his side. It was followed immediately by the grinding whir of powered battleplate as Holguin and Redloss resumed their seats.

Holguin suppressed a wince.

He had been at the Sybarite’s leading edge when it struck the Invincible Reason. He was lucky to be alive. Valiel and Kastael had not enjoyed such fortune. Everything had happened too quickly for him to pull them out with him. Calloson and over a hundred breachers of the Stormwing too were as yet unaccounted for. Thunderhawk sorties were being flown half-hourly to scour the wreckage, though hopes among the crews were not high. If not for the remarkable helmsmanship of the mourned Commodore Vesepian and his crew, the toll would surely have been much higher. Holguin, Myrdun, Xariel, Samariel and Breunor would almost certainly have been amongst them.

He might still have been, had he not been forewarned.

As if a legionary squire had arranged for a corsage for the conference table, Holguin again caught the trace scent of crushed leaves on the air, and heard the far-distant growl of a beast. He shook his head. The Watcher had saved his life. Why? Why him? He should feel grateful, but he did not. He felt used, tainted, as if their interest in him came perforce of some unconscious disloyalty to the Throne. He bit his lip and resolved not to compound the failing it bespoke.

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