Hellsreach - Aaron Dembski-Bowden [119]
Grimaldus looked at the three vials resting in his gauntleted palm.
‘I know of a place,’ he said softly, a dangerous flicker appearing in his eyes as he looked back up at his battle-brother. ‘It is far from here, but there is no holier place on this entire world. There, we shall dig our graves, and there, we will ensure the Great Enemy forever remembers the name of the Black Templars.’
‘Tell me why you have chosen this place. I must know.’
The truth is… surprising, but as I speak the words, there is no doubt within them. This is what we must do, and it is how we must die. Our lives are sacrifice, from implantation of the gene-seed to its extraction from our bodies.
‘We will die where our deaths matter. Where we can spite the enemy with our last breaths, and inspire the warriors of this city.’
‘Now those,’ Nero says, ‘are at last the words of a Reclusiarch.’
‘I am a slow learner,’ I confess. This brings a smile to my brother’s lips.
‘Mordred is dead,’ Nero said, keeping his voice low. ‘But he trusted you as his heir above any other for one reason. He believed you were worthy.’
I say nothing.
‘Do not die without ever living up to him, Grimaldus.’
CHAPTER XX
Godbreaker
Maralin moved across the botanical garden, her fingertips trailing along the dewy leaves and petals of the rosebushes.
They were not hers, but that didn’t stop her admiring them. Only one of her sisters had the patience and skill to grow roses in the choking air and sickened soil of the city, and that was Alana. All other blooms in the botanical garden were raised by cultivation servitors, and in Maralin’s opinion, it showed. Her fingers danced along the wet petals of the soot-darkened roses, amazed as always at how lovelier and fuller Alana’s flowers were in comparison to the modest blooms grown by the augmented slave workers.
They lacked inspiration, clearly, and no doubt the severance of their souls had much to do with it.
Passing through the spacious garden, she entered the rectory. The building’s air filters were straining, keeping the main chamber cooled. Prioress Sindal was sat, as she almost always was, at her oversized desk of rare stonewood, scribing away in meticulous handwriting.
She looked up as Maralin entered, peering through the corrective eyelenses that had slipped to the end of her nose.
‘Prioress, we’ve received word from Tempestora.’
Sindal’s cataracted eyes narrowed, and she gently sprinkled sand across her parchment, drying the fresh ink. She was seventy-one years old, and she didn’t just look it – she also sounded it when she spoke.
‘What of the Sanctorum?’
‘Gone,’ Maralin swallowed.
‘Survivors?’
‘Few, and most are wounded. The hive has fallen, and the Sanctorum of the Order of Our Martyred Lady is overrun by the enemy. We received word now that there aren’t enough survivors to retake their Sanctorum as of yet. Our own sisters in the Ash and Fire Wastes are moving to support.’
‘So Tempestora is gone. What of Hive Stygia to the north?’
‘Still no word, prioress. They are surely enduring the siege as we are.’
The old woman’s hands were palsied, though she found that writing always steadied them for reasons beyond her understanding. They shook now as she set the completed parchment aside, on a loose pile of several others.
‘Helsreach has weeks left, but little beyond that. The siege is almost at our own gates.’
‘That… brings me to the second of the morning’s messages, prioress.’ Maralin swallowed again. She was clearly uncomfortable, and resented being the one sent to deliver these messages, but she was the youngest, and often relegated to these tasks.
‘Speak, sister.’
‘We received a message from the Astartes commander in the city. The Reclusiarch. He sends word that his knights are en route to stand with us in the defence.’
The prioress removed her eyeglasses and cleaned them with a soft cloth. Then, carefully, she placed them back onto her face and looked directly at the young girl.
‘The Reclusiarch is bringing the Black Templars here?’
‘Yes, prioress.’
‘Hmph. Did he happen to say why he felt the sudden