Void Stalker Read Online Free Page A

complied with salutes and murmurs of ‘Yes, lord’ .
    It was Mercutian who broke the silence that followed. ‘We are here, Talos. What should we do now?’
    The prophet stared at a world that should ha ve been long dead, purged of life ten thousand years before and abandoned by all who called it home. The Imperium of Man would never re-seed a cursed world, especially one beyond the holy rim of the Emperor’s beacon of light. Reaching this world under standard propulsion would take months from even the closest border planet.
    ‘Ready all C laws for planetfall.’
    Cyrion cleared his throat. Talos turned at the surprisingly human gesture. ‘You have missed much, brother. There is something that requires your attention before we become involved planetside. Something pertaining to Septimus and Octavia. We were unsure how to deal with it in your absence.’
    ‘I am listening,’ the prophet said. He wouldn’t admit how his blood ran cold at the mention of those names.
    ‘Go to her. See for yourself.’
    See for yourself. The words echoed in his mind, clinging with an unnerving tenacity, feeling somewhere between prophecy and memory.
    ‘Are you coming?’ he asked his brothers.
    Mercutian looked away. Xarl grunted a laugh.
    ‘No,’ Cyrion said. ‘You should do this alone.’
    He reached her chamber, appalled at the weakness in his own limbs. Fifty-five nights, almost two full months without the daily training rites, hadn’t been kind to him. Octavia’s servants lingered in the shadows around her door, hunchbacked royalty in the sunless alcoves.
    ‘Lord,’ they hissed through slits in their faces that were once lips. Their bloodstained bandages rustled as they shifted and lowered their weapons.
    ‘Move aside,’ Talos ordered them. They fled, as roaches flee a sudden light.
    One of them stood its ground. For a moment, he thought it was Hound, Octavia’s favoured attendant, but it was too slender. And Hound was months dead, slain in the ship’s capture, scarcely twenty metres from this very spot.
    ‘The mistress is weary,’ the figure said. Its voice was somehow clenched, as though it strained through closed teeth. It was also a soft voice, too light to be male. She raised a bandaged hand, as if she could possibly bar the warrior’s passage with a demand, let alone with her physical presence. The woman’s cloth-wrapped face revealed nothing of her appearance, but her stature suggested she was less devolved – at least physically – than most of the others. Bulky glare-goggles covered her eyes, their black oval lenses amusingly insectile, giving the impression of mutation where none was immediately apparent. A thin red beam projected from the goggles’ left edge, following the attendant’s gaze. She’d welded a red dot laser sight to her facewear – for what reason, Talos couldn’t begin to guess.
    ‘Then she and I have much in common,’ the prophet stated. ‘Move.’
    ‘She has no wish to be disturbed,’ the strained voice insisted, growing even less friendly. The other attendants were beginning to return now.
    ‘Your loyal defiance does your mistress credit, but we are now finished with this tedium.’ Talos tilted his head down at the female. He had no wish to pointlessly slay her. ‘Do you know who I am?’
    ‘You are someone seeking to enter against my mistress’s wishes.’
    ‘That is true. It is also true that I am master of this vessel, and your mistress is my slave.’
    The other attendants skulked back into the shadows, whispering the prophet’s name. Talos, Talos, Talos… like the hissing of rock vipers.
    ‘She is unwell,’ the bandaged female said. Fear crept into her voice now.
    ‘What is your name?’ Talos asked her.
    ‘Vularai,’ she replied. The warrior smiled, barely, behind his faceplate. Vularai was the Nostraman word for liar.
    ‘Amusing. I like you. Now move, before I begin to like you less.’
    The attendant moved back, and Talos caught the glint of metal beneath