‘Hmm,’ Gradeolous replied, still intent on the yellowed skull, and the metal studs holding its cranium together. ‘Looks as though he had an unpleasant end.’

‘Kikazar made the mistake of lending his ear to a cult of witches. Whatever they told him resulted in his head exploding. The skull had to be rebuilt from shards. Still, his cogitator is invaluable. He can register the subtlest nuances of accent and language, and translate almost any dialect.’

‘I’m sure that is a valuable utility,’ Gradeolous replied, rising from his chair. ‘But this is war, and the only language an ork understands is the thud of auto-fire, or the shockwave of an explosion. Perhaps your focus should be there.’

‘You are correct, of course,’ I said. ‘I thank you for your time.’

‘A pleasure. For you,’ he replied. ‘But in future, focus on capturing my combat skills, domination of the skies. Good day.’

I watched him stride away, the remains of his meal strewn about the table. I could not decide if I had learnt little or much from him. I had no means to verify his words, but I did not get the impression he was lying, and a brief consultation with Kikazar’s cogitator confirmed it had detected no indication of falsehoods from his biorhythms.

But that did not mean he spoke truth, only that he believed in his cause.

Chapter fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I spent that evening by the window, nursing a glass of questionable wine, my gaze affixed to the distant sky and the storm that squatted in the west. I swore it was creeping closer. Had it been there when we first deployed? I remembered mist; perhaps that had concealed it. Or had it gathered since my arrival?

I had little else to do while I waited. I had requested to vox with Confessor Maric von Shard, and his itinerary indicated the priest’s ship was docked at Hedon for resupply. But my request only made it as far as his subordinate, and I doubted it would be relayed before his ship departed. Iwazar hovered beside me, poised to act as receiver. I doubted Maric would even pick up. Gregarious as he was, it was unlikely the priest would remember our time working together.

As the light faded I tried to get drunk, but struggled to finish a single glass. Dolos was generous enough with her bounty, at least in terms of volume. But I was beginning to suspect the quality depended on her current disposition. The bitter aftertaste suggested I was not, at present, well favoured. Still, the indigestible wine was probably for the best. I had already been half-cut before one of Shard’s siblings and did not wish to repeat the experience.