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Chapters (41)
  1. Cover
  2. Backlist
  3. Warhammer 40,000
  4. Preface
  5. Chapter one
  6. Chapter two
  7. Chapter three
  8. Chapter four
  9. Chapter five
  10. Chapter six
  11. Chapter seven
  12. Chapter eight
  13. Chapter nine
  14. Chapter ten
  15. Chapter eleven
  16. Chapter twelve
  17. Chapter thirteen
  18. Chapter fourteen
  19. Chapter fifteen
  20. Chapter sixteen
  21. Chapter seventeen
  22. Chapter eighteen
  23. Chapter nineteen
  24. Chapter twenty
  25. Chapter twenty-one
  26. Chapter twenty-two
  27. Chapter twenty-three
  28. Chapter twenty-four
  29. Chapter twenty-five
  30. Chapter twenty-six
  31. Chapter twenty-seven
  32. Chapter twenty-eight
  33. Chapter twenty-nine
  34. Chapter thirty
  35. Chapter thirty-one
  36. Chapter thirty-two
  37. Chapter thirty-three
  38. Postface
  39. About the Author
  40. An Extract from ‘Dawn of Fire: Avenging Son’
  41. A Black Library Publication

I spent most of the voyage watching Flight Commander Gradeolous. He acted as captain, bellowing orders to the crew, and I suspect he would have employed a lash if one were to hand. He barely acknowledged my presence, and when not admonishing the others his gaze was drawn to the skies. I could not help note his whiskers were unwaxed, the limp moustache smeared across his lips, and his flickering gaze lacked its former self-assurance.

Though no one spoke I knew where we were heading. As we sped along the canals I reminded myself that Dolos had provided her personal physician and yacht. It was certainly better treatment than Shard had received. But I had ignored her warning, and I knew there would be consequences.

She did not keep me waiting this time. A hoverchair had been prepared for my arrival. They pushed me briskly from the docks, through the botanical archway, towards the château. As we passed beneath the trees it struck me the leaves had thinned since my last excursion, and the painted dock was clearly marked with ugly, dark splotches.

I was taken to the château’s rear entrance, Iwazar hovering along beside me, and then through a twisted web of passages and corridors. Many were in desperate need of repair, the bark malformed and cracked. Tools were scattered, and I saw one footman had chiselled out a five-foot-long section of wood and was now using chain-link gloves to haul out handfuls of tendril-like roots.

We did not slow, not until we reached a gleaming set of great doors, the wood relentlessly varnished to a mirror-like sheen. There we halted, the party shuffling around me, conforming to a protocol unknown. Two positioned themselves beside the doors, pressing their shoulders to them and heaving with all their might. They took some moments to open, the warped wood chewing at the floor.

Still, that gave me ample time to admire the throne room.

It had not occurred to me Dolos might possess a throne. Despite her title, she rarely chose to present herself as a monarch, more a steward of the planet and people.

That was no longer the case.