The Inquisition War Read Online Free PDF Page A

partial skeleton of the supposed “daemon” in that copper cage, filigreed with hexes and a-crackle with blue sparks – energized so that no daemonic claimant could return – she wondered whether the hunched alien bones were actually those of a purestrain stealer, set up sardonically in that place of honour by the patriarch while the real relic languished elsewhere... The tour lasted for two hours, comprising lavishly decaying halls, sacrariums, and lesser shrines. She saw some evidence of on-going embellishment and repair, yet evidently wealth was not being squandered on the Imperial cult.
    The donated shekels, and those gleaned from sale of relics, would be sustaining an ever-extending family of unhumans underground.
    When Meh’Lindi and her party at last returned to the great courtyard, a liturgical pageant was about to begin. ‘Seeing the blessed Emperor defeating the daemon you were witnessing within!’ cried a herald.
    Daemons and aliens were creatures of a very different stripe; and genestealers certainly fell into the latter category, of natural beings. The less known about the daemons of Chaos, the better! Ironically the herald – knowing no better – blared out something forbidden so as to advertise whatever flummery would be staged...
    ‘A shekel apiece, good pilgrims, so that we may be proceeding!’
    A scrofulous dwarf scurried to and fro, collecting coins in a sawn-open skull fitted with silver handles, till he was satisfied with the height of the pile. The herald clapped his hands.
    The illusion of a huge and ornate, though melancholy, throne room sprang into being all around, cast by hidden holographic projectors. The sandy ground of the courtyard now seemed to be tessellated marble. A horde of gorgeous, abject lords and ladies grovelled before a leering, green-hued, sag-bellied monster sprawling in a great, spike-backed throne. Mutant guards wearing obscene and blasphemous armour kept vigil, cradling bolt pistols and power axes. The “daemon” glowed luridly. Jagged threads of lightning flickered between its froggy hands. Meh’Lindi was wryly amused.
    At that moment a parody of Space Marines with brutish, bulbous heads burst into the throne room. They fired explosive bolts at the guards, who fired back in turn. Caught up in the illusion, the audience of pilgrims screamed. Rapidly, as if matter met antimatter, all of the guards and all of the mock Space Marines died and vanished. So did the lords and ladies, leaving the stage clear...
    A tall, aura-cloaked figure entered, wearing a flashing golden crown. A mask of wires and tubes hid the “Emperor’s” face. From his outstretched hands sprouted nails which were as long again as his fingers. He gestured challengingly at the daemon – or alien – lord. As Meh’Lindi stared, transfixed, these nails swelled into claws, and an extra set of hands, and arms, burst forth from the sides of the “Emperor’s” rib-cage.
    Plainly this pageant was designed to confuse the beliefs of onlookers – already confused – so that they would identify the holy Emperor with the image of a genestealer... who would soon tear the fat green daemon-alien apart and claim that throne... ‘Fool!’ cried a voice. ‘This being the climax, not the prelude!’
    Behind the goggling, gasping pilgrims a tall purple-cloaked man was rebuking the herald, whom he was hauling along by the scruff of the neck. Like a ventilator cowl or a radar dish, the newcomer’s high stiffened hood cupped a long, menacing, yet enchanting face. His cranium was shaved bald. Knobbly bumps above his brows were tattooed with butterflies unfurling their wings, as if beauteous thoughts were bursting forth from chrysalises there.
    It was indeed a magus.
    Meh’Lindi slipped closer to him.
    ‘Not noticing our error, exalted one,’ babbled the herald. ‘Being outside of the holorama. Apologizing. Soon rectifying. Recommencing the performance—’
    As Meh’Lindi concentrated all her attention on