Warhammer 40K - [Ultramarines 04] - The Killing Ground by Graham McNeill (Undead) (v1.0) by me

Author:me
Format: epub

PART THREE

NEMESIS

“On wrongs, swift vengeance waits.”

ELEVEN

Dust lay thick on hundreds of glass cabinets and the air within the Gallery of Antiquities was ripe with musty neglect and forgotten history. Of all the places he had seen on Salinas, this was the one that truly spoke to Uriel. The legacy of the past and sense of belonging to something bigger was strong and he was reminded of the many halls of ancient banners and honour trophies that filled the Fortress of Hera. It was the day after their meeting with the Janiceps and the guilty taste of psychic contact had not yet left Uriel’s mind. As dawn had spread its sour light over Salinas, Uriel sent a request to Governor Barbaden, via their ubiquitous shadow, Eversham, that they needed a trained medicae to examine Pasanius. No reply was immediately forthcoming, and rather than simply sit and wait for a response, Uriel had decided they would use the time before their battle-brothers made contact to better acquaint themselves with this world. The best way to do that, decided Uriel, was to learn of its past. Having travelled through the palace corridors to the parade ground once before, the route was embedded in Uriel’s memory and they found their way to the outer doors of the palace with ease.

The bare concrete esplanade and grey tower at its far end were no less depressing than they had been the day before and as he made his way towards the decrepit Gallery of Antiquities, Uriel couldn’t help but feel as though he was being drawn to this place, that somehow this journey was necessary. “Doesn’t look like much,” Pasanius had said, looking at the neglected wing of the palace. Despite feeling that great things awaited in the gallery, Uriel had been forced to agree with him.

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That feared disappointment was dispelled as soon as they had entered and seen

the vast array of cabinets, packing cases and curios that filled the wing. Much of its depths were shrouded in darkness, and who knew what treasures awaited discovery farther in, for a planet’s worth of battle honours and history filled the Gallery of Antiquities.

In charge of imposing order on this haphazardly collected memorabilia was Curator Lukas Urbican, a meticulous and proud man, who Uriel had immediately warmed to upon meeting.

“Ah,” said Urbican, looking up over his spectacles as they had pushed open the doors to the gallery. “I was hoping you would feel compelled to visit my humble gallery, although I must apologise in advance for the somewhat… random nature of the exhibits.”

Urbican was of average height and from his bearing he had once been a soldier. Though he wore the dark robe of an adept instead of a uniform, it was clear that he kept fit and healthy. Uriel guessed he was in his early sixties, his face lined and hard, and what little remained of his hair was shorn close to his skull and as white as powdered snow.

Urbican beckoned them in and marched over with a liver-spotted hand extended in welcome.

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