Uriel wondered what had become of Ardaric Vaanes. In all likelihood, he was dead by now, a bleached corpse lying in the ashen wasteland of that dreadful world.

Feeling himself becoming maudlin, he put Vaanes from his mind and turned his head towards Pasanius.

Neither man felt the need to speak to one another, the companionable silence of two old friends who had seen life and death and everything in-between allowing them the luxury of silence.

That silence was broken by the approach of Colonel Kain.

Uriel looked up as she approached. 'Governor Barbaden is ready to see you,' she said.

'Good,' replied Uriel. 'I think I'm about ready to see him too.'

Visiting the Imperial palace of Salinas was an experience Daron Nisato avoided whenever he could. The building was too cold and too blatant a symbol of Imperial power to be relished any more. It served as a focal point for the people's anger, and to see its stark, uncompromising lines against the blue of the sky was to understand your insignificance in the face of the Imperium, and more especially, your insignificance in the face of Governor Leto Barbaden.

Nisato allowed the duty officer of the checkpoint to relieve him of his weapons, though it irked him that the city's chief enforcer could not be trusted with firearms in the presence of the governor.

This was the third security checkpoint he had passed through this morning, a drab, prefabricated building that smelled of damp and neglect. The first checkpoint at the main gate had halted his Rhino APC and the second, barely twenty paces later, had confirmed his identity via a series of painful, blood-sampling gene-matchers. He smiled grimly as he wondered if the gene-matchers explained the pasty, ashen complexions of the staffers that worked within the palace.

'Something funny?' asked the duty officer as he locked away Nisato's pistol.

'No,' replied Nisato, aware that these men lacked anything approaching a sense of humour, 'just happy to see you're doing such a thorough job.'

The man looked askance at Nisato, searching for signs of mockery, but Nisato was a past master at keeping his thoughts to himself. Satisfied that his solemn duty was not being made fun of, the man nodded gracelessly and waved Nisato through the door that led into the palace's courtyard precincts.

Nisato was about to pass through when the door behind him opened and the unmistakable aroma of incense, sweat and guilt wafted in. He knew who had entered the room without turning.

'Cardinal Togandis,' said Nisato.

He heard the intake of breath and turned to see the rotund figure of the Pontifex Maximus of Barbadus in all his finery.

'Enforcer Nisato,' said Togandis, his skin sheened in sweat. 'How fortuitous we should find ourselves together at this juncture.'

Shavo Togandis had never been an impressive man, even when he had served with the Falcatas as its company confessor, his manner too brusque, his appetites too unsavoury and his language too florid. Nisato had never felt the need to avail himself of the man's services, preferring to keep his confessions between the Emperor and himself in prayer.

The decade since Restoration Day had not been kind to Shavo Togandis's physique, his already doughy frame blooming to one generously proportioned in all directions.

'You are summoned also?' asked Nisato.

'Yes, yes,' said Togandis, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. 'We are all servants of our lord and master. Barbaden commands and we obey with alacrity. One does not like to keep the good governor waiting, does one?'

'No,' agreed Nisato, stepping aside to let the cardinal approach the unsmiling duty officer.

As Togandis went through the necessary formalities involved in passing through the palace's security, Nisato took a moment to study the senior cleric of Salinas.

He was not impressed.

Aside from his generously upholstered frame, Shavo Togandis had a nervous manner that, in any other man, would have seen him hauled into the interrogation cells below the enforcers' precinct and broken down for a confession.

The confessor confessing. The thought made him smile.

In addition to his shimmering chasuble of crimson and silver, Togandis wore a tall and elaborately worked mitre with long trailing cords of gold. He carried a long staff, which he was attempting to prevent the duty officer from impounding.

'Now see here, my good man,' began Togandis, 'this postprandial summons to the palace has inconvenienced me greatly and this staff is a sacred instrument of my most valued and not inconsequential status on this planet. You would be advised not to remove it from my personage.'

'No weapons or items that could be construed as weapons are allowed within the palace,' said the duty officer, as though reciting the words by rote, 'except by a member of the Falcatas.'

'Now you listen here, you pathetic little myrmidon, you must understand that there are exceptions to every rule and I refuse to truckle to your purblind devotion. Do you understand?'

'Frankly, no,' said the duty officer, holding out his hand, 'but it alters nothing. You'll need to hand over your staff.'

'I wouldn't bother arguing, Shavo,' said Nisato, adopting a tone as stuffy and self-important as the cardinal's. 'Even I, an upholder of Imperial Law, am forced to relinquish my symbols of office in the face of this panjandrum.'

Togandis looked down at Nisato's empty holster and smiled at the gesture of solidarity, oblivious to the sarcasm in Nisato's voice.

'Well, indeed, one must band together in the face of adversity, what?' he said, turning and reluctantly handing over his staff to the duty officer. 'And if there is so much as a single imperfection visible upon that staff when I return, I shall deliver the fiercest commination upon your head!'

The duty officer took the staff and wearily waved the pair of them through.

Smiling, Nisato followed the cardinal into the courtyard, emerging into bright sunlight on the cusp of the transition from morning to afternoon.

The palace towered above them, dark and threatening. Its guns and defences, though angled to the sky, remained an impressive symbol of the power of the man who commanded them. Constructed from immense blocks of dark stone, the palace reminded Nisato of the great, cliff-top castles of his home world, brooding crags carved from the rock of the coastline.

Scarlet-clad soldiers patrolled the lower skirts of the palace, their falcatas unsheathed at their sides. Their red plate gleamed in the sun and the bronze of their helmets shone like gold, but even these men were not permitted to bear firearms as a matter of course.

Unlike many soldiers who looked ceremonial, the Achaman Falcatas were men he had once been proud to fight alongside. There was no give in these soldiers and they fought with a fire in their bellies that other regiments could only envy. That fire had died since Restoration Day, but its embers still smouldered.

A trio of Chimera transports emblazoned with the insignia of the Screaming Eagles were parked up before the palace, an unusual enough occurrence that it made Nisato wonder who had travelled in them to be afforded such a rare honour.

Once again, Togandis dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.

'So, did your summons furnish you with any clue as to the nature of this audience?' he asked.

Nisato shook his head, slowing his normally long stride to allow the waddling cardinal to keep up. 'No, it didn't, but then Leto always was a man of few words, wasn't he?'

'Indeed he was,' agreed Togandis. 'Indeed he was. No inspiring speeches before a battle, just orders, precise, never to be meddled with, orders.'