The hieroliths, seven in all, were arranged before this wall, a line of three in front of four. Tholotep’s ghost appeared on the central disc of the first row, full-size and bright despite the cosmic distance that separated him from Simut. Behind the throne, the curved wall was set within a tracery of mind-circuits, angling around twenty-one sarcophagi alcoves. Lit from below by the energy of the tomb ship, each alcove but for the central niche held one of the overlord’s lychguard. Immobile for the time being, they stood as silent sentries, half with warscythes held across their chests, the other half stood to attention with phase-swords bared and shields upon their arms. At the centre waited the broad form of Archimedion Phetos, the royal warden. The overlord’s lieutenant bore a large double-barrelled gauss weapon, its energy chambers reflecting the jade light of the surrounding hall.

The throne itself was set upon a dais almost as tall as Simut, reached only by a narrow set of steps at the front. It was a golden chair inlaid with crystal lines that linked the occupant to the energy trove of the tomb ship, the conduits flowing from its base in complex patterns across the dais and the floor of the mastaba-chamber. The back of the chair flared outwards like the wings of a great bird, the lines of the feathers glowing with the same thought-light as that which glowed from the walls. Simut’s warblade was set into a clawed holder beside the throne, as tall as the overlord, its long cutting edge dormant for the moment. On the other side of the great chair a frame held a suit of torso exo-armour, the sculpted plates nestling over shoulders and spine, gauss cables hanging free ready to power the overlord’s weapons.

‘King Szarekh demands that his plan be enacted as he wills it, and it is my responsibility to ensure his commands are followed precisely,’ the emissary replied. The image of Tholotep thrust an accusing finger towards Simut, its tip gleaming in the azure light of the astral projector. ‘You are thirty-two dekas behind schedule, Simut. Your tardiness will not be tolerated much longer.’

‘Tardiness?’ Simut’s artificially modulated voice rose in pitch. ‘I have conquered barbarians and filth in the name of the Silent King, while others have planted resonator pylons on empty worlds, devoid of all glory to the Szarekh dynasty. If I have proceeded more slowly it is because I have walked the harder road.’

‘You have certainly made hard work of the task assigned to you.’

‘Choose sweeter words when you address me, Tholotep. You would do well to remember that I am royalty, of the line of Szarekh himself.’ Wisps of energy flared from the overlord, whipping around him as a visible sign of his displeasure, his eyes gleaming with the same jade power. ‘I am Overlord Simut, Stormhawk Commander of the Winter Stars, Ruler of Anthothekis and Akapris.’