In the middle of the group, next to the psyker girl. Radimir’s fingers began to itch. He needed one more warp eye, just one, and then he could trigger the great glyph. He would be able to procure it through other means, but to have one right here, virtually within arm’s reach, was a huge temptation. And perhaps he could take another swing at the psyker who’d foiled him last time. He’d have been able to get all the eyes he needed in Brobantis Palace, had she not somehow been able to evade him for long enough to bring the whole insect nest of guards and, crucially, their lights, down on him.

No. That was ego talking, and even servants of the Ruinous Powers could be killed by ego. He was too close now to be sunk by pride. Even in this dark, stepping into the middle of such a group of warriors was foolhardy at best, and in all probability suicidal. He could see another man there in the livery of the scholastica psykana: a telekinetic, judging by the design of his force staff, unless Radimir badly missed his guess. He could be a dangerous foe indeed. Radimir would let them go, ignorant of his presence.

A light flashed in the hold of the gun-cutter, drawing his attention. There were still people inside, then? Curiosity warred with caution. He couldn’t pass his consciousness through the hull, but the hull was no longer intact. What if he threaded his way in, very carefully, through the ruined aft section?

He was thrown back twice, as he strayed too close to shards of metal that retained their protection, but he managed to penetrate the shuttle’s defences at the third attempt. He slithered past the ruined circuits and scorched walls, and into the main hold.

One corpse: some minor Adeptus Mechanicus lackey. Two more Brobantis guards, one with a broken leg and one with slightly glassy eyes that spoke of a mild concussion. And, slumped painfully in an anti-grav transport chair that carried most of the available lights, was a cadaverous-looking Navigator. Isolated, virtually undefended and in possession of the eighth warp eye that Radimir needed.

He smiled, and stepped through.

Hunting for Witches

Hunting for Witches

They’d turned and made their way back to the gun-cutter as quickly as they could.

It hadn’t been fast enough.

By the time Chetta got there, flanked by Hickett and Viller, and with Alyssana Nero hovering uncertainly nearby, they’d heard the shouts of rage and sorrow over their comm-beads. Wroze and Grangar had burst into the ship, and hadn’t liked what they’d found.

Neither did Chetta, once she laid eyes on what awaited them.