He couldn’t deny there was an illicit thrill at the idea of this clandestine meeting, a sense of rebellion that appealed to his youthful spirit. The Cloister Gate was closed, and Zahariel checked to left and right to see if he was being observed, before padding across the corridor and flattening himself against the warm wood of the door.
He tested the handle, not surprised to find it unlocked, and gently pushed down on the black iron, pressing his back against the door to open it. The door creaked, and he winced at the sound, slipping through and closing it as soon as a wide enough gap had opened.
Zahariel pressed himself against the wood and turned to the centre of the chamber.
Little light filled the Circle Chamber, only a few candles burning low upon iron candelabras around the raised plinth’s circumference. The stained glass of the tall windows glittered in the flickering light, and the eyes of the painted heroes seemed to stare down at him in accusation at his trespass.
He silently asked their forgiveness as he ventured into the chamber, casting his gaze left and right as he searched for any sign of Nemiel. Shadows cloaked much of the chamber in darkness, the fitful light of the candles unable to reach much past the first few rows of stone benches.
‘Nemiel?’ he whispered, freezing in place as the acoustics of the chamber carried his voice to its furthest reaches.
He called his cousin’s name once more, but again, no answer was forthcoming from the darkness. Zahariel shook his head at his foolishness for agreeing to this meeting. Whatever game Nemiel was playing would have to be played without him.
He turned away from the stone benches and started as he saw Nemiel standing at the centre of the raised plinth.
‘There you are,’ said Nemiel with a smile.
Nemiel stood with the hood of his surplice raised, his features hidden in a wreath of dancing shadows. But for his voice and posture, it would have been impossible to tell who had spoken. Nemiel carried a hooded lantern which cast a warm light around the lowest level of the chamber.
Zahariel quelled his annoyance at his cousin’s theatrics and said, ‘Very well, I’m here, now what is it you want to show me?’
Nemiel beckoned him to climb up to the central plinth of the Circle Chamber, and Zahariel chewed his bottom lip. To climb the stairs would be to go along with whatever Nemiel had planned, and he sensed that a threshold would be crossed that might only be one way.
‘Come on,’ urged Nemiel, ‘you can’t keep the gathering waiting.’
Zahariel nodded and climbed the worn stone steps that led to the plinth where only the masters of the Order were permitted to walk. He felt curiously lightheaded as he climbed up and took his first step onto the smooth marble of the plinth.
Level with his cousin, Zahariel saw why he had not seen him when he had first entered the Circle Chamber.
Nemiel stood beside a stone staircase that wound downwards in a spiral through the centre of the Circle Chamber. Clearly, his cousin had climbed from whatever chamber lay below this one, though Zahariel had not known of the existence of these stairs or any secret place beneath.
‘Put your hood up,’ said Nemiel.
Zahariel complied with his cousin’s request and said, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Below the Circle Chamber,’ said Nemiel, ‘to the Inner Circle.’
T
HE INTERIOR OF
the stairwell was dark, only a fitful light from Nemiel’s lantern illuminating their descent into the depths. Nemiel led the way and Zahariel followed, his trepidation growing with every downward step.
‘Tell me where we are going,’ he said.
‘You’ll soon see,’ replied Nemiel without turning. ‘We’re almost there.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘Be patient, cousin,’ said Nemiel, and Zahariel cursed his cousin’s obtuse answers.
Knowing he would get nothing more from Nemiel, he kept his counsel as they continued, and he counted over a thousand steps before they finally reached the bottom.
The stairway opened up into a brick-walled chamber with a low, vaulted roof, which was bare of all ornamentation. Like the chamber above, it was circular, the stairway piercing the centre of its roof. A number of oil lamps hung from the ceiling at each of the compass points, and beneath each lamp stood a hooded figure in a white surplice.
The figures stood motionless, their features hidden in the shadows of their hoods, and their arms folded across their chests. Zahariel could not help but notice that each one carried a ceremonial dagger, identical to the kind used in the Order’s initiation ceremonies.
The surplices the figures wore were bereft of insignia, and Zahariel looked to his cousin for some indication of what was going on.
‘This is your cousin?’ asked one of the figures.
‘It is,’ confirmed Nemiel. ‘I’ve spoken to him and I believe he shares our… concerns.’
‘Good,’ said a second figure. ‘There will be consequences if he does not.’
Zahariel felt his anger rise and said, ‘I didn’t come here to be threatened.’
‘I was not talking about consequences for you, boy,’ said the second figure.
Zahariel shrugged and said, ‘Why am I here? What is this?’
‘This,’ said the first man, ‘is a gathering of the Inner Circle. We are here to talk about the future of our world. Nemiel tells us that you enjoy the special favour of the Lion, and if that is so, you might be an important ally to us.’
‘Special favour?’ said Zahariel. ‘We have spoken a few times, but we have no great closeness, not like the Lion and Luther.’
‘Yet you both rode with him when the angels came,’ said the third figure, ‘and you will march alongside him as part of his honour guard when the Emperor arrives.’
‘What?’ gasped Zahariel. That was news to him.
‘It will be announced tomorrow,’ said the first figure. ‘You see now why we had your cousin bring you here?’
‘Not really,’ confessed Zahariel, ‘but say what you have to say and I will listen.’
‘It is not enough that you listen. Before we go any further, we should be sure we are all agreed on our course of action. Once we are committed, there is no going back.’
‘Going back from what?’ asked Zahariel.
‘From stopping the Imperium taking Caliban from us!’ snapped the third man, and Zahariel saw hints of a hawkish face and prominent chin beneath the man’s hood.
‘Taking Caliban from us?’ said Zahariel. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘We have to stop them,’ said the second figure. ‘If we do not, they will destroy us. All our dreams, our traditions, our culture will be torn down and replaced with lies.’
‘We are not the only ones who see these things,’ said the third man. ‘Do you know, I reprimanded a wall sentry today for being lax in his duties, and he talked back to me? I have never known the like of it. He said we didn’t need to guard the walls anymore, because the Imperium was coming to protect us.’
‘It was the same in my order before we were disbanded,’ growled the second man, and Zahariel realised that these were men of different knightly brotherhoods, not just from the Order. ‘The supplicants would not listen to their masters, too eager to submit to the Astartes trials. It is as if the entire world has gone mad and forgotten our past.’
‘But they are showing us the future,’ protested Zahariel.
‘Which only goes to prove the cleverness of our enemies,’ said the first man. ‘Imagine if they had been more honest about their intentions and made clear from the first that they intended to invade us. All Caliban would have risen up in arms, but instead, they were more subtle, claiming that they came to help us. They say they are our lost brothers, and we welcome them with open arms. It is a cunning stratagem. By the time the majority of our people realise what has really been going on, it will be too late to change things. The oppressor’s boot will already be at our throat and we will have helped put it there.’
‘True, but remember it also demonstrates their weakness,’ said the third man. ‘Keep that fact in mind. If they were confident they could conquer us easily, there would be no need for this subterfuge. No, our enemy is not as all-powerful as they would have us believe. To hell with their flying machines and their First Legion, we are the knights of Caliban. We destroyed the great beasts. We can drive these damn interlopers away.’
Zahariel could not believe what he was hearing. Hadn’t these knights heard of the Emperor’s Great Crusade? Knowing of the glory and honour that could be won, why
wouldn
’
t
anyone want to join it?
‘This is madness!’ said Zahariel. ‘How can you even think of making war against the Imperium? Their weapons are far superior and the walls of the fortress monasteries will be smashed down in a day.’
‘Then we will retreat to the forests,’ roared the third man. ‘From there we can launch lightning attacks and disappear back into the woods before the enemy can counter-attack successfully. Remember the words of the
Verbatim.
“The warrior should choose the ground on which he will fight with an eye to strengthening his own efforts and unbalancing the best efforts of his enemy”.’
‘We all know the
Verbatim
,’ replied the first man. ‘The point I was trying to make is that we cannot win this battle on our own. We need to rally the whole of Caliban against the invader. Only then can we hope to win this war.’
‘We need to create an event that will let the people see the true face of our enemy,’ said the second man. ‘We need to get them to look past all the surface smiles and mealy-mouthed words, to the evil hidden within.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ the first agreed, ‘and we must do it quickly, before our enemy can strengthen their hold on our world any further. I am sure, given long enough, the enemy will inevitably show its true colours to the people of Caliban. But time is not on our side. We may need to speed events along.’
‘What in the name of the Lion are you suggesting?’ demanded Zahariel.
‘I am saying it would help our cause if the enemy committed an act of terror so vile it would immediately turn every right-thinking soul on Caliban against them.’
‘Then you will be waiting a long time,’ snapped Zahariel. ‘The Imperium would never do something like that. You are wasting your breath and my time with this talk.’
‘You misunderstand me, boy,’ said the man. ‘I am saying that we should stage the act on their behalf and make sure they are blamed for it.’
There was silence as the others digested his words.
‘You want to create an atrocity and blame it on the Imperium?’ said Zahariel. ‘Nemiel? You can’t possibly agree with this!’
‘What choice do we have, cousin?’ responded Nemiel, though Zahariel could see that he was unconvinced by the words spoken in this secret conclave, and was as shocked as he was.
‘The Imperium is not to be trusted,’ said the first man. ‘We know they are plotting to enslave us and take our world for themselves. They are not men of honour. Therefore, I say we can only fight them by using their sly, underhand methods against them. We must fight fire with fire. It is the only way we will defeat them.’
‘You are talking about killing our own people,’ said Zahariel.
‘No, I am talking about saving them. Do you think it is better we do nothing? Especially when, by our inaction, we may be condemning future generations of Caliban’s children to slavery. Granted, the course I propose will result in a few hundred, perhaps even a few thousand deaths, but in the long term we will be saving many more millions of lives. More importantly, we would be preserving our planet, our traditions, and the way of life gifted to us by of our forefathers. I ask you, is that not worth a few deaths?’
‘Those who die will be seen as martyrs,’ said the third man. ‘By the sacrifice of their lives we would be ensuring our planet’s freedom.’
‘Yes, that is a good way to put it,’ agreed the first, ‘martyrs. They die so that Caliban can be free. I know our views are not popular, Zahariel, but this will make them more palatable, so that when the time comes our people will fall into step behind us. This act will show our enemy in the worst possible light and incite hatred against them.’
Zahariel looked at the four men in disbelief, amazed they thought he might join with them in this madness. Of the four hooded men surrounding him, one had not yet voiced any opinion, and Zahariel turned to this figure.
‘What of you, brother?’ he asked the fourth man. ‘You have listened to this insanity and you have chosen to remain silent. It is not acceptable for you to stay quiet at such times. I must ask your opinion, brother. In fact, I demand it.’
‘I understand,’ said the fourth man after a short pause. ‘Very well, if you want my opinions, here they are. I agree with almost everything that has been said. I agree we must take action against our enemy. Also, given the strength of the forces arrayed against us, we must suspend the rules of honour. This is a war we cannot afford to lose, therefore we must dispense with scruples and commit acts we would normally find dishonourable.’
‘Well spoken, brother,’ nodded the first man, ‘but there is something else? You indicated you agreed with
almost
everything we said. With what do you disagree?’
‘Merely on a matter of tactics,’ said the fourth man. ‘You talked of staging an act of atrocity, creating an incident so terrible it will turn our people against the Imperium, but I would argue for a more straightforward attack.’
The atmosphere in the chamber seemed to Zahariel to become thicker and darker, as though the light fled from what was being discussed.
‘With a single act, we can deal a crippling blow to enemy morale,’ said the fourth man. ‘Perhaps, if we are truly fortunate, we might even win our war in one fell swoop.’
‘This act you speak of?’ the first man asked. ‘What is it?’
‘It is obvious, really,’ the fourth man said. ‘It is one of the first tactical lessons in the
Verbatim.
“To kill a serpent, you cut off its head”,’
Zahariel realised the truth a moment before the others. ‘You can’t mean…?’
‘Precisely,’ answered the fourth man. ‘We must kill the Emperor.’
T
HE WORDS ECHOED
in Zahariel’s skull, but he could not quite believe that he had heard them. Yet, as he looked from one hooded figure to the next, he could find nothing to indicate that these men were anything but serious. He felt his gorge rise at such base treachery and wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this place as possible.