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him with black holes that had been eyes.
    ‘Is it not magnificent?’ said Maroth, the transmission of his voice edged with static. The creature turned its head and fixed its empty eyes on the soothsayer.
    Run. Run now, you fool . The thought screamed in Ahriman’s head. The creature opened its mouth in a grin that went too wide and showed too many teeth. A black tongue ran across the glinting needle-sharp points. It hissed: a noise that should have been impossible in the airless chamber.
    ‘The Space Marine that Karoz killed,’ breathed Ahriman.
    ‘Its name was Cadar, I think. Yes. It was grievously injured, but its final thread of life had not been cut when it came to me. Very strong.’ Maroth nodded as if in approval. ‘The near-dead flesh made a pleasing vessel.’
    Ahriman could see it; the Space Marine’s body was a sleeve of flesh, its spirit scooped out, and its form a mask of skin. A daemon coiled in the husk that remained, its essence night-black, oozing hunger and malevolence. It was not intelligent; it was pure instinct and desire. The bindings Maroth had placed on it pinned it in place like an insect to a table. He had misjudged the soothsayer; he was ignorant and crude, but he had acquired and applied lore Ahriman did not believe him capable of grasping. The fruit of that achievement was an abomination.
    He looked away from the creature and saw that Maroth was watching him.
    ‘It is mine, and answers to me alone,’ said Maroth.
    He wanted me to see this, Ahriman thought , to see the power he commands. It is not enough that he wields it; others must witness it and be awed . He bowed low, knowing it was what was expected. Above him the creature hissed. This will be the weapon he uses to destroy Gzrel and take the Harrowing . Did he bring me here to test its potency? Am I to be its first victim?
    Maroth let Ahriman kneel for a long moment.
    ‘Rise, Horkos.’
    Ahriman stood and looked into Maroth’s red eyes. No , he thought. I am his first ally .
    ‘Now you see,’ said Maroth, and turned to leave. Behind him Ahriman followed, feeling the empty gaze of the creature on the back of his skull.
    Ahriman returned to his new quarters alone. Gzrel had given the space to him, but it was as much a calculated insult as a reward for service. At once vast and cramped, it was not so much a chamber as a void left in the structure of the ship. One wall towered into the darkness above, its surface covered with rivets and weld seams. The other walls met it at different angles and heights. Pipes ran through the space as if hurrying to other more vital areas. Some were as tall as a man, others no thicker than a finger; they snaked in bundles across the floor and spanned the space like vines. Thick, red-edged light oozed from the flames he had lit in bowls of machine oil. The room reeked of warm metal, oil smoke and stagnant air. Grey grease and dust covered the floor in a thick layer, muffling the sounds of his steps as he walked through the circular hatch. He looked up, his eyes reaching into the gloom beyond the tangled canopy of pipes. Air, coolant, fuel, water and waste, all rushing through this forgotten fissure in a ship that stretched to six kilometres and could house thirty thousand souls. He stood at the heart of the ship, yet in a forgotten place. It was supposed to be a mark of his place within the Harrowing, but the isolation was almost pleasing.
    He closed the hatch and turned, the barest hint of fatigue in his movements. His head ached, the presence of the bound creature lingering like a bruise on his mind. He thought for a moment of Astraeos; would he keep his silence?
    If he told Gzrel… The lord of the Harrowing would not believe him.
    Perhaps.
    It would have been better to silence him.
    He shook his head again. He needed to think, to reflect, and to remember.
    Quietly he began to speak the formulae, feeling the syllables resonate in his mouth, tasting the subtle shifts in the aether around him. He