“An ability to see things that other people cannot.”

Kallista leaned forward, her aura revealing her interest.

“What sort of things?” she asked.

“Auras, I suppose you’d call them. It’s like a glowing haze surrounding a person. I can see when someone’s lying, read their feelings and moods. That sort of thing.”

“So what am I feeling right now?” asked Camille. Lemuel smiled.

“You are overcome with feelings of unbridled lust for me, my dear,” he said. “You want to leap on me and ravish me to within an inch of my life. Were it not for the presence of Mistress Eris, you would be astride me right now.”

Camille laughed.

“Okay, I’m convinced,” she said.

“Seriously?” asked Kallista.

“No!”squealed Camille. “I’m fond of Lemuel, but I prefer partners of a different flavour.”

“Oh,” said Kallista, looking away with a guilty flush. She looked at Lemuel. “Can you really do that?”

“Yes, I can,” he said. “Right now you’re embarrassed and wishing Camille wouldn’t refer to her sexuality in front of you. You believe me, and you’re relieved that you’re not the only one with a secret.”

“You don’t need special powers to see that, Lemuel,” said Camille. “Even I can see that.”

“Yes, but you believe me as well, and you have a power too, don’t you?”

Camille’s smile froze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Now that’sa lie,” said Lemuel, rising from his chair and fetching himself a drink. “You touch things and you know where they’ve come from, who owned them and everything about their history going all the way back to when they were made. That’s why you always wear those gloves and why you never borrow anything from other people. I don’t blame you. It must be hard learning all of a person’s secrets like that.”

Camille looked away, her eyes downcast, and Lemuel smiled, trying to put her at ease.

“I watched you touch that object buried in the ruins of the Aghoru house the other day,” he said. “You knew what it was the moment you laid your hand on it, didn’t you?”

Camille kept her eyes on the floor and said, “I did, yes. I haven’t always been able to do it. I was about thirteen when it started.”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” said Lemuel gently. “We all have something special about us. And I don’t think it’s an accident we’re here.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Think about it. What are the chances that the three of us, people with talents beyond the understanding of most ordinary people, would find ourselves together like this? I’m no mathematician, but I suspect the odds are pretty much against it.”

“So what are you saying, that we’re here deliberately? Why?”

Lemuel sat down again, sweating and breathless thanks to the heat.

“I think our hosts may have something to do with it,” he said. “Look around. How few remembrancers are there with the XV Legion? Forty-two spread throughout the Fellowships. A number like that makes me think there was a great deal more to our selection than our talents as remembrancers.”

“So you’re saying we were all selected by the Thousand Sons becausewe have these abilities?”

“Almost certainly,” said Lemuel.

“Why?” asked Kallista.

“That, I don’t know,” confessed Lemuel, “but if there’s one thing I’ve come to know about the Thousand Sons, it’s that they don’t do anything without good reason.”

THE INSIDE OF the Mountain was alive with sound and colour. Not any sound the Space Wolves could hear, despite their legendarily heightened senses, nor any colour they could name, for these were hues of the aether, rippling like smoke and radiating from the smooth walls of the cave like bioluminescence.

The armour worn by the Astartes was equipped with sensors that could penetrate darkness, but to those without aether-sight, the view would be a sea-green monochrome, a poor rendition of the true light saturating the rock.

A hundred warriors delved the innards of the Mountain, all that could be spared from the business of harvesting the gene-seed of the fallen.

Magnus led the way down, following a twisting path only he could see. Lord Skarssen and Ohthere Wyrdmake marched with him, and Ahriman took a moment to study the Wolf Lord. Skarssen’s aura was a keen blade, a focussed edge of single-minded determination. Here was a warrior who never let up, never stopped to question, and would never, ever, falter in his duty.

Such surety of purpose reminded Ahriman of the golem legends written in the ancient Qabalah. The golem was a creature shaped from clay, raised by an ancient priest to defend his people from persecution. It was a powerful, unstoppable force, a creature that obeyed its master’s instructions absolutely literally, never deviating from its task, no matter what.

It was a perfect representation for the Space Wolves, for Ahriman had read accounts of the war they made. The sons of Russ were weapons, a consummate force for destruction that absolutely would not stop until the job was done.

Of course, the legends of the golem were also cautionary tales of hubris, with later tales depicting golems that had to be undone through trickery, whereupon they more often than not turned on their creators. The Golem of Ingolstadt was one such beast, a monster that wreaked havoc on its creator and all he loved before destroying itself upon a polar funeral pyre.

The comparison made Ahriman uneasy, and he put the thought from his mind as the tunnel sloped ever downwards. Normally he could retrace any route, no matter how complex, but within moments of entering the Mountain he was utterly lost. Only the primarch seemed to know where he was going, but how he knew which passage to take and which junction to follow was a mystery to Ahriman.

Of the captains of Fellowship, only Uthizzar had come into the Mountain. Phosis T’kar was too weak, and Hathor Maat was restoring him with the healing arts of the Pavoni. Khalophis too had remained on the surface to secure the battlefield. The alien Titans were no more, but who knew what other horrors might yet lurk in hidden valleys and caves?

As a result, the Thousand Sons beneath the Mountain were a mix of Astartes from different Fellowships, and Ahriman saw ghostly flickers of power rising from each of them, subtly different, revealing their cult affiliations by the tempers of their auras.

He noted that most of them were Pyrae.

“I know,” said Uthizzar. “Together with the Space Wolves, there will be no room for subtlety here.”

Ahriman was about to nod, when he realised he hadn’t spoken the thought aloud.

“Did you just read me?” he asked.

“It is hard not to at the moment,” replied Uthizzar. “Everyone’s thoughts are so heightened, with the level of aetheric energy here. It is as if you are all shouting. I find it quite uncomfortable.”

Ahriman bristled at the idea of his thoughts being read.

“Be careful,” he warned. “That could get you into trouble some day. People do not like their innermost secrets revealed.”

“My power is no different from yours,” said Uthizzar.

“How do you reach that conclusion?” said Ahriman. “The powers of the Corvidae and the Athanaeans are nothing alike.”

“I read what people are thinking now. You read what they are going to be doing in the future. All that is different is the timing.”

“I hadn’t thought of it in that way,” conceded Ahriman. “Perhaps this can form a debate for another day? This is probably not the best time.”

“No,” said Uthizzar with an amused chuckle.

They marched in silence for a while longer, following the crooked path deeper and deeper into the darkness. To feel the touch of the aether in the Mountain, after its chronic absence, was both exhilarating and worrying. Nothing happed without reason, and only something of great magnitude could force the state of a thing to change with such extreme polarity.