The Beheading (The Beast Arises Book 12) by Guy Haley

Author:Guy Haley [Haley, Guy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Games Workshop
Published: 2016-11-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Krule’s judgement

Beast Krule observed the street from a stanchion of a mono­rail, crushed into the space between bracket and trackbed that allowed the rail to flex on its pneumatic suspension, although a carefully placed block of adamantium prevented it from doing so for the time being. Apart from a slightly bumpy ride for the commuters riding between the Archive Menorum and their tribal hab-towers, there was no indication Krule was there, down in the underhive of the Antipodean Minoris region. He was shielded from the street by the architecture of the transit line and from augurs by the electricity sputtering from the monorail’s fraying cables.

It was extremely uncomfortable, but comfort had never been a consideration in an Assassin’s career. Lurking had been his lot in life. Even while monitoring traffic in Tashkent Hive, he had been watching unobserved. If there was a time in his life when he hadn’t hidden, he didn’t remember it. The Venenum Temple had been dark. When he hadn’t been training to fight or to poison, he had been training to hide. That was his role, to hide and strike in close and depart, and he was good at it.

The land here had been mountainous before it had been covered over. Rather than level the peaks, the architects of the hive had simply boxed them in, creating this small underworld. The metal sky of the higher levels pressed down hard on the mountain stumps. An angle of stone and filthy metal defined the boundary of the underhive. Ancient structures from the dawn of mankind’s history slumped against the giant supporting columns of the hive above. Rotting rockcrete slums closed in his perceptions to this one dirty street, washed by effluent rain and frequented by nobody he would like to meet. He had been waiting a very long time, and Krule was getting nervy.

Ordinarily, Krule asked no questions about a particular play, beyond those that would help him refine the mission. This time there was a question that niggled him as he waited in that noisome space.

Why did Vangorich want Vernor Zeck dead? Vangorich confided a lot in Krule, but not everything. Krule had seen how ineffectual the High Lords had become, he understood Vangorich’s frustration. But why Zeck? Zeck had been no worse than the others, and in Krule’s estimation, he had been a sight better than most of them. Most of the High Lords were either good at running their adepta but not very good at politics, or the reverse. Zeck was among maybe three of the High Twelve that were good at both. The Grand Provost Marshal did not take much for himself in the way of riches and prestige. He did his duty, in fact, he did more. He took as much interest in the local Arbitrators of Terra as he did in the more prestigious, star-spanning lawgivers of the Adeptus Arbites. The fact that Krule was watching over some run-down sub-precinct at the back end of the world, and not stalking the halls of a palace, was proof of that.

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