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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 won’t pretend you don’t have your work cut out for you,’ he said, cleaning his blade on a torn shirt. ‘She is a wilful one.’

‘I am sure she will prove every bit the hero, sir.’

He paused in his labours, glancing at me. His face was blurred by the fading connection, but he carried an expression I had not seen before. Surprise. Or perhaps concern.

‘Propagandist Simlex, do not misunderstand me. I respect your work. It tolerably serves the Emperor’s cause, which is a damn sight more than most of your ilk. But I did not vouch for you because I thought you would make my sister a hero. That is a lost cause.’

‘Sir?’

‘Your duty is ensuring she does not sully her family’s name,’ he said as the vid-feed faded. ‘I do not care how. Make her a background player. Overdub her speech. Remove her entirely if necessary. But do not let her drag the rest of us down. Her failings will remain her own.’

Chapter ten

CHAPTER TEN

My conversation with Commissar von Shard did little to lift my spirits. I tried to focus on my work, obtaining background material and immersing myself in the base’s operations. Kikazar’s lenses were sharp enough to capture the aircraft’s take-offs and landings, and our link strong enough for it to survey the swamp surrounding Governor Dolos’ estate. I took to cataloguing these recordings in the hangar, where Plient conducted repairs, assisted by a corroded pair of maintenance servitors.

If asked, I would say I sought his company because his sanguine nature was a balm against the sting of recent setbacks. And that is true enough. But there was another reason, though it now lay in pieces, the engine ­disassembled and strewn about the workshop.

Shard’s Lightning. Black Griffin, the name taken from the von Shard family crest emblazoned on its wing.

At least, I took that to be its name, but when I spoke it aloud Plient frowned at me.

‘Black Griffin?’ he said.

‘Her plane?’ I nodded. ‘It’s famous across the subsector.’

‘Never heard her call it that.’

‘What did she call it?’

‘I don’t know. Something in High Gothic. Mendax Matertera? Something like that.’ He shrugged, returning to his labours.

Plient’s work was predominantly patching holes and applying purified oils to the Lightning’s delicate mechanisms, the servitors attending to the refuel­ling and reloading. But there were times I caught him shoulder-deep in the partially dismantled engines, or employing an arc welder to fuse cables and circuits.