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Then； just eight years ago； our paths had crossed again on Kuuma。
Tantalid's fanatical hatred … indeed； I would venture； fear … of the psyker was by then insurmountable。 I made no secret of the fact that I
employed psychic methods in the pursuit of my work。 There were psychic adepts in my staff； and I myself had worked to develop my
own psychic abilities over the years。 Such is my right； as an authorised bearer of the Inquisition's seal。
In my eyes； he was a blinkered zealot with psychotic streak。 In his； I was the spawn of witches and a heretic。
No courtroom argument for us on Kuuma。 A little war instead。 It lasted an afternoon； and raged through the tiered streets of the oasis
town at Unat Akim。
Twenty…eight latent psykers； none older than fourteen； had been rooted out of the population of Kuuma's sprawling capital city during
a purge； and sequestered prior to their collection by the Black Ships。 They were recruits； a precious resource； untainted and ready to be
shaped by the Adeptus Astropathicus into worthy servants of the God…Emperor。 Some of them； perhaps； would have the ultimate
honour of joining the choir of the Astronomican。 They were frightened and confused； but this was their salvation。
Better to be found early and turned to good service than to remain undetected and become tainted； corrupt and a threat to our entire
society。
But before the Black Ships could arrive to take them； they were spirited away by renegade slavers working in collusion with corrupt
officials in the local Administratum。 Vast sums could be made on the black market for unregistered； virgin psychic slaves。
I followed the slavers' trail across the seif dunes to Unat Akim with the intention of liberating the youngsters。 Tantalid made his way
there to exterminate them all as witches。
By the end of the fight； I had driven the witchfinder and his cohorts； mostly foot soldiers of the Frateris Militia； out of the oasis town。
Two of the young psykers had been killed in the crossfire； but the others were safely transferred into the hands of the Astropathicus。
Tantalid； fleeing Kuuma to lick his wounds； had tried to have me declared heretic； but the charges were swiftly overturned。 The
Ministorum had； at that time； no wish to court conflict with their allies in the Inquisition。
I had expected； known even； that Tantalid would return sometime to plague me。 It was a personal matter now； one which his fanatical
disposition would fix upon and transform into a holy calling。
But the last I had heard； he had been leading an ecclesiarchy mission into the Ophidian subsector in support of the century…long Purge
Campaign there。
I wondered what had brought him to Lethe Eleven at so inopportune a moment。
BY THE TIME I was back on my feet； two weeks later； the Darknight was over and I knew the answer； in general if not specific terms。
I was hobbling around on a cane in the private mansion I had rented in Lethe Majeure when Aemos brought me the news。 The great
Ophidian Campaign was over。
'Great success；' he announced。 'The last action took place at Dolsene four months ago； and the Warmaster has declared the subsector
cleansed。 A famous victory； don't you think？'
'Yes。 I should hope so。 It's taken them long enough。'
'Gregor； Gregor… even with a force as large as the hallowed Battlefleet Scarus； the subjugation of a subsector is an immense task！
That it took the best part of a century is nothing！ The pacification of the Extempus subsector took four hundred y—'
He paused。
'You're toying with me； aren't you？'
I nodded。 He was very easy to wind up。
Aemos shook his head and eased his ancient body down into one of the leather chairs。
'Martial law still dominates； I understand； and caretaker governments have been established on the key worlds。 But the Warmaster
himself is returning with the bulk of the fleet in triumph； setting foot in this subsector again for the first time in a hundred years。'
I stood by the open windows； looking out from the mansion's first floor across the grey roofs of Lethe Majeure which seemed to coat
the hills of the Tito Basin like the scaled hide of some prehistoric reptile。 The sky was a magnolia haze； and a light breeze breathed。 It
was almost impossible now to picture this place beset by the filthy； permanent shadows of the Darknight。
Now； perhaps； I knew why Tantalid had returned。 The Ophidian war was over； and his holy mission concluded with it。
'I remember them setting out； don't you？' I asked。
A foolish question。 My savant was a data…addict； driven since the age of forty…two standard to collect and retain all manner of
information thanks to a meme…virus he had contracted。 There was no possibility of him forgetting anything。 He scratched the side of
his hooked nose where his heavy augmetic eye…pieces touched。
'How could either of us forget that？' he replied。 'The summer of 240。 Hunting the Glaw clan on Gudrun during the very Founding
itself。'
Indeed； we had played a particular role in delaying the start of the Ophidian Campaign。 The Warmaster； or lord militant as he had been
back then； had been all but set to launch his purge into Ophidian space when my investigation of the heretic Glaw family had triggered
a mass uprising later known as the Helican Schism。 To his great surprise and displeasure； the Warmaster had been abruptly forced to
redirect his readied forces in a pacification of his very own subsector。
Warmaster Honorius。 Honorius Magnus they were calling him。 I had never met him； nor had I much wish to。 A brutal man； as are so
many of his kind。 It takes a special mindset； a special brutality； to crush planets and populations。
'There is to be a great Jubilation on Thracian Primaris；' Aemos said。 'A Holy Novena congregated by the Synod the High Ecclesiarchy。
It is rumoured that the Imperial Lord Commander Helican himself will attend； specifically to bestow upon the Warmaster the rank of
Feudal Protector。'
'I'm sure he'll be very pleased。 Another heavy medallion to throw at his officers when he's annoyed。'
'You're not tempted to attend？'
I laughed。 In truth； I had thought to return to the Helican subsector capital before long。 Thracian Primaris； the most massive；
industrialised and populated world in the subsector； had wrested capital planet status from ancient Gudrun after the disgrace and
foment of the Schism； finally achieving the preeminence it felt its size and power had long deserved。 It was now the chief Imperial
planet of this region。
There was work to be done； reports to be filed and presented； and those things could best be achieved by returning to my property on
Thracian； my base of operations； near to the Palace of the Inquisition。 But I had little love for Thracian Primaris。 It was an ugly place；
and I only made my headquarters there out of convenience。 The thought of pomp and ceremony and festivals filled me with quiet
dread。
Perhaps I would go to Messina instead； or to the quiet of Gudrun； where I maintained a small； comfortable estate。
'The Inquisition is to attend in great strength。 Lord Rorken himself…'
I waved a hand in Aemos's direction。 'Does it appeal to you？'
'No。'
'Are there not better uses for our time？ Pressing matters？ Things that would be more easily achieved away from such overblown
distractions？'
'Most certainly；' he said。
'Then I think you know my mind。'
'I think I do； Gregor；' he said； rising to his feet and reaching into the pocket of his green robe。 'And therefore I'm fully prepared for the
fact that you're going to curse me when I give you this。'
He held out a small data…slate； an encrypted message…tile whose contents had been received and stored by the astropaths。
The official seal of the Inquisition was stamped across its front。
THREE
CAPITAL WORLD。
THE OCEAN HOUSE。
INTRUDERS； PAST AND PRESENT。
THRACIAN PRIMARIS； CAPITAL world of the Helican subsector； seat of government； Helican subsector； Scams sector； Segmentum
Obscurus。 You can read that description in any one of a hundred thousand guidebooks； geographies； Imperial histories； pilgrimage
primers； industrial ledgers； trade directories； star maps。 It sounds impressive； authoritarian； powerful。
It does no justice at all to the monster it describes。
I have known hellholes and death…planets that from space look serene and wondrous： the watercolours of their atmospheres； the
glittering moons and belts they wear like bangles and jewels； the natural wonders that belie the dangers they contain。
Thracian Primaris is no such dissembler。 From space； it glowers like an oozing； cataracted eye。 It is corpulent； swollen； sheened in
grey veils of atmospheric soot through which the billion billion lights of the city hives glimmer like rotting stars。 It glares balefully at
all ships that approach。
And； oh！ But they approach！ Shoals of ships； flocks of them； countless craft； drawn to this bloated cesspit by the lure of its vast
industrial wealth and mercantile vigour。
It has no moons； no natural moons anyway。 Five Ramilies…class star…forts hang above its atmosphere； their crenellated towers and
buttressed gun…stations guarding the approaches to and from the capital world。 A dedicated guild of forty thousand skilled pilots exists
simply to guide traffic in and out of the jostling； cr