He had mentally started preparing the report to the Battle Group Command.

The commander of the Ithraca’s Vengeance is pleased to report a most advantageous and decisive engagement. If it would please Group Command to forward the attached intelligence direct to Fleet Command and the lord pri­march.

What a different missive he would have to compose.

‘All gunships aboard. Closing doors, captain.’

If Aeschelus could have reached inside himself and torn out his hearts to offer as payment to make the situation different, he would have done so. The sense of failure burned in his chest like acid, and he desperately wanted to issue an order to attack. Better to strike and fall than to run without retort.

‘Engines to full power,’ he ordered.

Battle Group Faustus Command regrets to inform the lord commander of a disastrous engagement.

There was no glory in dying without cause. Better to face failure than flee its consequence, and survive to set it right in the future.

‘Orders, captain?’ Praxa­medes’ question prompted Aeschelus to look at the chronometer.

Eight seconds.

‘Helm, full speed, directly away from the enemy.’ The words were like hot nails in his mouth but he managed to say them without anger, not wishing to corrupt the crew with a moment of unnecessary emotion. It was only the taste of his pride.

‘Get us out of here.’

Part II

PART II

‘Across the void to traitors’ nest,

They matched their arms ’gainst Death’s harsh claw.

Overjoyed to pass the test,

And eager for the righteous war.

So light a flame and send a prayer,

For the souls of the Cursed Fleet.’

– ‘The Lament of Quintus’,
an Imperial Navy shanty.

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

‘Everything is proceeding exactly as my cousin requests.’ Overlord Simut turned back to the shimmering apparition of Emissary Tholotep. The Silent King’s messenger was rendered in blue light atop the black disc of the hierolith, a metallic skeleton figure draped in robes of office and golden chains, much like Simut himself. ‘I find this constant inquest unnecessary, Tholotep.’

Simut strode across the command-mastaba of his tomb ship to stand before the dais on which his throne had been installed. The chamber was a large semi-circular structure, its flat wall set before the throne, covered with images translated from the ship’s many sophisticated sensors. At this moment in time, they displayed a shifting view of the planet below, the stars, the accompanying tomb fleet and the immense resonator-ships descending to the planet, their jet-black charge a shard of darkness against the pale grey of the world’s surface.