Legion by Dan Abnett Page B

clear?’
    Grammaticus nodded. The agony was immense. He could feel blood running out of his nose and over his top lip.
    ‘Good. Shere is going to release you. That will be nice, won’t it? When Shere releases you, no mind tricks. Are we still clear?’
    ‘Yes,’ Grammaticus hissed, his throat bruised and sore.
    ‘Let him go, Shere,’ the giant commanded.
    The squeal went away and took the worst of the pain with it. Grammaticus slumped forwards onto his hands, gasping.
    ‘Lights,’ the giant’s voice ordered.
    There was a brief pulse of telekinetic effect, and several dozen wax candles arranged around the room spontaneously lit, a decent pyrokinetic display. The light from the candles was soft and yellow. It showed Grammaticus a shuttered greeting room, typical of Nurthene houses, with a faience tiled floor and mosaic walls that snagged the candlelight like water. It also showed him his antagonists: an armoured trans-human giant and a standard human in black whose face Grammaticus couldn’t see, even though the man wore no physical mask or hood.
    ‘Your name is John Grammaticus?’ the giant asked.
    ‘If you say so.’
    ‘I can get Shere to start again, if you prefer.’
    Grammaticus shook his head. Spots of his blood dappled the tiles around him. “Yes, my name is John Grammaticus. You already knew that.’
    ‘Look at me,’ the giant commanded.
    Grammaticus looked up. The giant was clad in power armour, the metal and ceramic wargear of an Imperial Astartes. The armour was a rich purple with silver edging. Green heraldry had been marked on the shoulder plates. The helm was the very latest, baleen-snout version. Dull red light shone inside the visor slit. To the left of the towering Astartes stood the mind-hooded figure, small by comparison.
    ‘No, me ,’ said the Astartes. ‘Look at me . Ignore my psyker. Better.’
    ‘I—’ Grammaticus began.
    ‘Quiet,’ said the Astartes, raising a massive index finger. ‘You’re going to tell me what I want to know, not what you want to say.’
    Grammaticus nodded.
    ‘You’ve been looking for me. That’s why you keep coming into this city. You knew I’d be here.’
    Grammaticus nodded again.
    ‘How did you know that?’
    ‘Because we invited you here,’ Grammaticus replied.
    ‘You invited me here? Who’s “we”?’
    ‘The Cabal I work for.’
    The Astartes turned to look at the hooded figure. ‘Once again,’ he said.
    The squeal speared into Grammaticus’s head and made him shriek.
    ‘What is the Cabal?’ the Astartes asked.
    Grammaticus sobbed. He could barely answer. ‘They… I don’t know… they are eternal and… and they…’
    ‘That’s not really very good,’ said the Astartes. ‘Maybe I should just shoot you.’
    ‘The Cabal is… the Cabal is the only hope!’ Grammaticus pleaded.
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘Please!’
    ‘Stop it now, Shere,’ the giant instructed.
    The squeal died back.
    ‘Whose only hope?’ asked the Astartes.
    ‘Mine. Yours. Mankind’s,’ Grammaticus sighed.
    ‘You’re talking about the Imperium?’
    Grammaticus shook his head. ‘Broader than that. The species.’
    ‘The Imperium is the species,’ the giant replied.
    ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’ Grammaticus asked. ‘The worlds you’ve seen, the worlds you’ve been obliged to bring to compliance… worlds like this one, sapling shoots of human culture, cuttings from the root plant. The human race is far, far more than the militant tribe that is spilling out from Terra to accomplish the Emperor’s vision.’
    The Astartes drew his boltgun. Grammaticus did not actually see it happen. One moment, the hefty weapon was holstered at the giant’s hip, the next it was in his steel fist, aimed at Grammaticus’s head.
    ‘Are you insane?’ the giant asked. ‘Are you blind? Look at me. I am an Astartes warrior, oathed to this moment and sworn to serve the Emperor. Why would you say something that sounds so perilously close to treason?’
    ‘I