art by Ilya Beliakov
Kallor Veyran sat on his command throne, staring at the helmet in his hand, grasping it with his fingers around the rim and his thumb in the shattered lens of the targeting sensor.
“That,” he said, “was a disaster.”
The Warden of the Void stood next to the navigator’s station, not at attention exactly, but not leaning on the fixtures either. Still in his armor, he had at least shed his jump pack before reporting.
“We found the psyker,” he said, simply. “We let his ritual go on long enough to weaken the veil. We prevented the mortals from finding and using him. The mortals and… whatever those other things were.”
“Votann,” Veryan muttered, then looked at the Warden. “Don’t underestimate them. More dangerous than they look.”
The Warden momentarily looked suspicious. “I thought the Tyranids exterminated them.”
Veyran dropped his helmet to the deck with a loud clank of ceramite on durasteel. “Apparently not.” He shook his head. “This was as costly a success as we have had in a very long time. The Fangguard are all seriously wounded. The Pale Accord barely limped back to the Stormeagle. And the Shatterwi – “
“That was bad luck,” the Warden interrupted. “The abhumans were sitting there in their transport, doing nothing! Not even searching for the psyker! How was I meant to know there was a tank sitting behind the manufactorium?”
Veyran stared at him.
“An Imperial tank that was coordinating with whatever those things were,” the Warden said.
Veyran continued to stare.
The Warden gave a resigned sigh. “They’re difficult to rein in,” he said.
“You’re their commander,” Veyran said, looking him directly in the eye. “Reining them in is your job. Shock troops that fall to pieces without shocking anything are a drain on resources we cannot currently afford. I told you they would be problematic.”
The Warden sighed again. “And the World Eaters?”
“Koth…” Veryan said the name with a snarl. “Koth is nowhere to be found. His pack apparently hunts wherever it likes, now. If anything is actually leading them I was not aware of it.”
“Not much different, then.”
“Not much, no.” Veyran shifted minutely in the throne, trying to look on the bright side by physically changing his position. “Still. Success is success, even at a high price. Just be more… aware, in the future.”
The Warden of the Void lowered his head in agreement, as deferential as anyone in the Alpha Legion ever got. “And next?”
“Our new friends have been delayed,” Veyran said, unconcerned. “It will be some time yet before the entire cell can be updated.”
“You seem to be taking to it well enough. I heard about the Russ.”
Veyran gave him the same bowed head, as thankful as the Warden was deferent.
“Until then?” the Warden asked.
“As ever, my friend,” Veyran said. “We wait for our moment.”