‘You should think again,’ said Sarashina, reclining on the wealth of sumptuous cushions spread over the floor of the Choirmaster’s chambers. ‘You see?’

Zhi-Meng leaned over the board and laughed as he perceived the arrangement of pieces on the grid.

‘Inconceivable!’ he said, clapping his thin, sculptor’s hands. On the heart finger of his left hand was an onyx ring carved with intertwined symbols that might have been language, but was more likely ornamentation. Zhi-Meng had told her the ring was purchased from a man who claimed to have journeyed from the Fourth Dominion, but Sarashina suspected this was another one of the Choirmaster’s mischievous boasts. If he had retained his eyes, they would have twinkled as he told the story. Instead, his almond shaped eyes were sewn shut, telling anyone who knew of such things that he had been blinded over a century ago when such techniques were common.

The Choirmaster shook his head and he scanned the board again, as though checking he was truly beaten. ‘I am defeated by the assassin’s blade hidden in the velvet sleeve. And here I thought I had planned enough moves ahead to win with ease.’

‘A good regicide player thinks five moves ahead,’ said Sarashina, ‘but a greatregicide player–’

‘Only thinks one move ahead, but it is always the best move,’ finished Zhi-Meng stroking the long forks of his white beard. ‘If you’re going to quote Guilliman to me, at least have the decency to let me win first.’

‘Maybe next time,’ answered Sarashina as a blinded servitor entered the Choirmaster’s chambers. Robed in white and with no thoughts of its own, it was a ghostly apparition, its presence visible as a blur of murky light in her mind. Elements of the servitor’s brain had been removed with gemynd-shears, and only the most rudimentary cognitive functions remained.

‘Do you know why I insist we play regicide?’ asked Zhi-Meng.

‘To show off?’

‘Partly,’ admitted Zhi-Meng, ‘but there’s more to it than that. Regicide helps us develop patience and discipline in choosing between alternatives when an impulsive decision seems very attractive.’

‘Always teaching, is that it?’

‘Learning is always easier if the subject doesn’t know it’s being taught.’

‘Are you teaching me?’

‘Both of us, I think,’ said Zhi-Meng as the servitor deposited a steel-jacketed pot of tisane, and the smell of warm, sweetened honey came to Sarashina.

‘You and your sweet tooth,’ she said.

‘It is a weakness, I confess,’ said Zhi-Meng, dismissing the servitor with a gesture and reaching over to pour two small cups of the warm liquid. He handed her a cup and she sipped it gingerly, savouring the sweet taste.

‘It gives me solace,’ said Zhi-Meng, with a smile. ‘And in such times, solace must be taken wherever it can be found, don’t you agree?’

‘I thought that was what the qash in the hookah pipe was for.’

‘Solace comes in many forms,’ replied Zhi-Meng, removing his belt and letting his robe fall to the floor. His body was thin and wiry, but Sarashina knew that there was strength in those limbs that belied their frail appearance. His skin was parchment taut and pale, every centimetre covered in tattoos inked by his own hand with a needle said to have been snapped from the spine of a fossilised beast found in the bedrock of the Merican rad-wastes. A cornucopia of warding imagery was wrought on the canvas of his flesh: hawk-headed birds, snakes devouring their tails, apotropaic crosses, eyes of aversion and gorgoneion.

That such symbols flew in the face of the Imperial Truth mattered little to the Choirmaster, for he was the oldest living astropath in the City of Sight, and his knowledge of what protective wards would guard against the dangers of the immaterium was second to none.

He lay down next to Sarashina, and he stroked her arm with great tenderness. She smiled and rolled onto her front, letting Zhi-Meng massage her back and ease the tensions of yet another arduous day of passing increasingly desperate messages from the mindalls to the Conduit and onwards to their intended recipients. Zhi-Meng had studied with the ancient wise men who had dwelled in these mountains before the coming of the Emperor and his grand vision of a palace crowning the world, and his touch spread healing warmth through her aged bones.

‘I could let you do that all night,’ she purred.

‘I would let you,’ he replied. ‘But such is not our lot, my dear.’

‘Shame.’

‘Tell me of the day’s messages,’ he asked.

‘Why? You already know what’s passed through the tower today.’

‘True, but I like to hear what you think of it,’ he said, working a stubborn knot of tension in her lower back.

‘We have been getting a lot of traffic from worlds demanding Army fleets to keep them safe from any rebel forces.’

‘Why not ask for Legion forces?’

‘I think people are afraid that if four Legions can turn traitor then maybe others will too.’

‘Interesting,’ said the Choirmaster. His hand kneaded the bunched muscles around her shoulders and neck as he spoke. ‘Go on. Tell me of the Legions. What news comes to Terra of our greatest warriors?’

‘Only fragments,’ admitted Sarashina. ‘Some Legions send daily for tasking orders, a few are beyond our reach and others appear to be acting autonomously.’

‘Tell me why Space Marines deciding their own orders sets a dangerous precedent,’ asked Zhi-Meng.

‘Why do you ask questions that you already know the answer to?’

‘To see if youknow the answer, of course.’

‘Very well, I’ll indulge you, since you’re making me feel human again,’ said Sarashina. ‘Once loosed, such power as the Legions possess will be difficult to shackle to Terra once more.’

‘Why?’

‘To think that the Space Marines are simply gene-bred killers is to grossly underestimate them. Their commanders are men of great skill and ambition. Free to act on their own authority, they will not take kindly to being brought to heel once again, no matter who demands it.’

‘Very good,’ nodded the Choirmaster.

‘But it will not come to that,’ said Sarashina. ‘Horus Lupercal will be crushed at Isstvan. Not even he can stand against the force of seven Legions.’

‘I believe you are right, Aniq,’ said Zhi-Meng. ‘Seven Legions is a force with a power beyond imagining. How long will it be until Lord Dorn’s fleet reaches Isstvan V?’

‘Soon,’ said Sarashina, knowing the vagaries of warp travel made precise predictions impossible.

‘Something bothers you regarding the coming battle? Aside from the obvious, I mean.’

‘The primarch of the VIII Legion,’ said Sarashina.

‘I hear from the Raven Guard that he is reunited with his warriors.’

‘Exactly, but Lord Dorn was adamant that we not send the fleet assembly orders for the Isstvan expedition to Konrad Curze, only to the Night Lords Chapters stationed within the Sol system.’

‘And this has caused alarm within the palace?’ said Zhi-Meng, more to himself than Sarashina. ‘That a primarch rejoins his Legion?’

‘To say the least,’ said Sarashina. ‘No one seems to know where Curze has been since the Cheraut compliance.’

‘Lord Dorn knows, though he will not say,’ replied Zhi-Meng, ‘He bade me send a message to Lords Vulkan and Corax.’

‘What kind of message?’

‘I do not know,’ said Zhi-Meng. ‘It was composed in a manner unknown to me, some form of battle-cant known only to the Emperor’s sons. I can only hope it reaches them in time. But enough of matters upon which we can have no further effect. Tell me of Prospero. Why do you think we have had no contact for months?’

‘Perhaps Magnus is still smarting after his treatment at Nikaea,’ said Sarashina.

‘That is certainly possible,’ agreed Zhi-Meng. ‘I saw him after the Emperor pronounced his judgement, and it is a sight I will never forget. His anger was terrible indeed, but even worse was the hurt betrayal I felt in his heart.’