Editing The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Four (section)

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Lord Kaldor Draigo was on the verge of losing his temper. He had flown straight to Terra as fast as he could after finding Malcador the Sigillite’s message, and raced to the Imperial Palace the second he had entered the atmosphere. The Palace was in the middle of an uproar, unabated after the transmission the High Lords had made. The Palace authority had not, of course, refused entry to the vessel containing the Lord Grand Master of the Grey Knights, but even his name couldn’t clear the riots brewing in depths of Terra. The full company of the Adeptus Custodes had assembled within the halls of the Palace, and every one of the innumerable adepts, drones, Ecclesiarchs, and pilgrims within the massive structure had been forced out, unless they were one of those lucky few who lived within the massive, country-spanning building itself. 

Draigo paced back and forth before the Eternity Gate, his every step watched with raptor-like vigilance by the gold-armored Custodes that guarded it. Under more normal circumstances, he probably would have been just a little intimidated by the pair of Warhounds tracking his every move, but he was far too irate to care. 

After nearly an hour of waiting—an HOUR! To fulfill the Terminus Decree—the doors finally swung open, and a Custodian Terminator strode forth. He spoke without preamble. “Lord Draigo. You are expected. I apologize for the wait, but things have become hectic of late.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, with the slightly shorter Draigo hot on his heels. 

“I can not wait any longer,” Draigo said icily. “I must speak with the God-Emperor at once.” 

The noise level around him was higher than he ever would have guessed. The thousands of tubes and conduits that lead from the floor to the Golden Throne had been unplugged from the Throne and retracted, spooled back into hidden coils in the floor. Previously, they had ferried the souls of the sacrificed psykers in the tunnels below to the Emperor, so that His life could be sustained. Now, however, the psykers were allowed to live, and the Throne was gradually being disassembled. 

“Naturally,” the Custodian replied dryly. “Might I inquire as to the subject?” 

Draigo hesitated. “…No. I apologize, Lord Custodian, but I am afraid I must speak to Him and Him alone.” 

The Custodian whirled around. “Master Draigo, I can only assume you came here to enact the Terminus Decree. Not even we of the Household Guard were privy to its orders, but I can imagine them. The Emperor Himself informed us, the day after Malcador sealed those orders away, that they told you to come here and await Him. Well, He’s gone.” The light from thousands of luminators glinted off his jet-black helmet lenses. “Deal with it.” 

Draigo, for the second time in a week and the third time in his life, felt his jaw drop. He was astonished by the Custodian’s utter disrespect, but also by his knowledge of something that should have been sealed away and forbidden for everyone in the galaxy but him and the Emperor. 

“Now, you listen,” he snapped angrily. “I traveled here from Titan because I was assured that the Emperor himself would give me the command of the Decree, and so I shall wait here until he does.” 

The Custodian stared impassively at the seething Grey Knight, then shrugged, with every sign of nonchalance. “Fine. Suit yourself. Try anything insipid and we’ll rip you to shreds, anyway.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the massive banner of Sanguinius, head bowed, that hung behind the Emperor. “There’s probably still a forklift back there for you to sit on if you get bored.” 

Draigo tilted his head, stunned. The Custodian was all right with his demand? He seized the opportunity. “Very well, thank you.” 

“Whatever you say,” the Custodian said coolly. He turned back to the Throne and walked towards it, as the Eternity Gate slid shut with an echoing CLANG. Draigo looked out over the massive room with awe. He had been here before, naturally, but never when the room was in such a state. The Golden Throne was being slowly disassembled by a cadre of Archmagi of the Mechanicum, with a ring of several hundred techpriests around the base of the colossal structure, each holding an incense stick in one hand, and a tiny sensor package in the other, those with mechadendrites holding more of either. 

The Throne was coming apart in the excruciating care of the Mechanicum, carefully detaching individual cords, boxes, and tubes, and very cautiously placing them in tiny, vacuum-rated pouches, to be carted off by servitors. The pouches were stamped with purity seals and lowered into a stasis field by another techpriest. 

Beyond them, a group of nearly a thousand Custodes were busily manhandling massive crates into rows, while a colossal cargolifter, driven by another Custodian, lifted them into stacks. Some of them had layers of dust on them that looked as if they had not been disturbed in years, which surprised him greatly. Didn’t sanctionites, Inquisitors, and fresh Custodes come in here all the time? 

A telepath with the markings of a Master Astropathica Adept bustled past him with a psyker-stave in his hand, mumbling to himself. “However shall we do this, oh however shall we do this…” 

Draigo lifted one armored hand. “You, there, Astropath…where is the Emperor?” 

The Astropath spun around and glared at the Grey Knight through sightless eyes. “Have you taken all leave of your senses, Custodian? How could you not know?” Without another word, he spun away and resumed mumbling without missing a syllable. 

Draigo started after him, growing more and more irritated by the second. “Wait, I’m not…” he trailed off as the muttering psychic walked away. He stopped and turned around again, fighting a growing feeling of being sandbagged. 

“Does nobody here but me think that the Emperor being possessed is a matter of some urgency?” he snarled under his breath. 

A pair of Inquisitors, both Ordos Malleus by the look of them, walked up behind the power-armored warrior and came to a halt. “Grand Master Draigo?” the elder one asked. 

Draigo spun around. “Yes. Who might you be?” 

The Inquisitor smiled. “I am Averus Valentine, of the Ordo Malleus. This is my associate, Jonash Haldebrandt. We would like your assistance.” 

Draigo crossed his arms. “And how may I serve you, gentlemen?” 

Haldebrandt spoke up. “Grand Master, am I to understand that you have seen the broadcast made by the High Lords?” 

“Naturally,” Draigo replied. “What of it?” 

“Well, Master, we’ve seen it too. We were wondering what you thought of it,” Valentine said, his face a placid, unassuming mask. 

Draigo slowly uncrossed his arms. He gestured with his hands to the corner of the colossal room, and slowly walked off in that direction. Valentine allowed a small smile for his younger colleague and followed. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Inquisitor,” Draigo said slowly. 

“I imagine you do,” Haldebrandt said mildly. “The Emperor Himself, in His divine glory, consuming a Greater Daemon of Khorne in single combat? For that matter, a Daemon even appearing in this, the most heavily guarded building in all of human space?” 

Draigo reached one vaulted wall of the room and continued along it. “It had struck me as odd.” 

“Us as well, Master Draigo. Do you think that perhaps, the High Lords might have been lying?” Valentine asked. 

“Lying? Probably not,” Draigo hedged. “Obscuring the truth? Probably. Emperor knows, daemons can be willfully summoned. An Inquisitor of all people should know that.” 

“Touché, Master Draigo,” Valentine said, a smile tugging at his lips. Haldebrandt just looked miffed. “In fact, that is what we suspect occurred. We think that the Most Divine Emperor summoned a daemon from the Warp and bound himself to its form.” 

Draigo sighed. “Under…literally any other circumstance, I imagine I would kill you both for that heresy…but I agree. That seems to be the case.” 

Valentine stopped walking, all traces of levity gone from him now. “So…what do we do about it?”