While Echidna stalked her latest source of headaches as he slaughtered his way through Vallia, another problem was brewing across the stars, a problem that would be a headache not only for her … but for Caiphas Cain as well.

The erstwhile Commissar knew not what the near future had in store for him as he lounged in his luxurious room, granted to him by the Governor of Karlack. It was the capital world of the Imperium of Mankind in the sector, the principal seat of the Achilus Crusade. As such, it was the most well-defended Fortress World in the entire sector, especially since it was also the central planet of the Iron Collar, the circle of fortress worlds and listening posts surrounding the Well of Night and the Jericho-Maw warp gate at its centre. 

The Maw-gate, which he was scheduled to pass through onboard Anberley Vail’s ship in a week. Finally, he would be back in the Imperium proper, not in the galactic equivalent of the boonies, where all kinds of horrors could come crawling out of every bush and asteroid.

Cain decided he much preferred Orks and even Tyranids to the unknown Xeno horrors of the galactic fringe. Hells, he’d much rather take a stroll through a Necron Tomb world than meet that Psyker who made a hobby out of stomping on common sense. 

Ever since he’d escaped that horribly stressful negotiation, he hadn’t let his trusty aide, Jurgen, out of his sight. Only knowing Jurgens’ peculiar abilities might ward off the possibility of another crazy Psyker teleporting over to turn his mind into mush with a thought, finally letting him get a good night’s sleep. 

He didn’t even mind that his long-time aide’s continued aversion to the concept of hygiene made his luxurious suite smell decidedly non-luxurious. Scented candles helped with that problem, and they also set the mood for when Amberley, now and then, spent the night. 

Thankfully, Jurgen had long learned to keep to himself in any such situation, so only his unique bouquet lingered in the suite, not the man himself. 

All in all, the rest of his time in the Jericho Reach promised to be luxurious, relaxing and bereft of any firefights. Lounging on his sofa as he sipped on some quality amasec delivered to him straight from the Governor’s personal collections — such were the benefits of being a celebrated Hero of the Imperium — Cain decided that he had enough excitement for a dozen lifetimes already, and so, he would retire once they got back to the Imperium proper.

Again. 

He just had to make sure his retirement would last this time, maybe choose a nice little Pleasure world as his destination, not Perlia, which he had had to save from an invasion twice now. 

He wasn’t sure how he should broach the subject to Amberley; you didn’t just tell an Inquisitor that you wanted to retire without getting shot in the head. Most people who worked with any of the Ordos knew too much to be allowed a peaceful retirement, and he suspected that whether he got the go-ahead or a bullet through the head would be down to Amberley’s mood. 

Something he still failed to properly read, even after centuries of knowing the enigmatic and extremely dangerous woman.

“Sir?” Jürgen’s usually toneless voice interrupted his musings, the hint of confusion and hesitance now present in his aide’s tone drawing Cain’s attention to it. His palms tingled somewhat fiercely, making him grimace as he realised his relaxing last week might have just been dragged behind the barn and shot in the head. “There is a runner outside insisting you present yourself for a meeting. I thought to just send him away as he is outside the chain of command you are in, but he seemed frightened, so I thought I would mention it at least.”

Good old Jürgen. No one could ward off invitations to boring meetings and soul-crushingly tedious vox-calls better than him. He had long since grown used to wielding his borrowed influence like a club to keep any but the most important people from bothering him. 

He also believed in the chain of command, like it was the singular truth of the world, believing that it extended up from the humblest guardsman all the way up till the Golden Throne itself, unbroken. Meaning, he believed he was serving the Emperor’s will at all times by obeying his superior’s command, which was Cain, the majority of the time.

“It wasn’t one of the local generals’ runners?” Cain asked, sitting up straighter.

“No, sir,” Jurgen said, shaking his head with a put-upon frown on his face. “I think it was one of the servants of this place. Whoever sent him must have just waved him down and sent him on his way.” 

“Could be a trap,” Cain mused. “The runner could be terrified because he’d been threatened?”

“I doubt it,” Jurgen said. “He ran off the moment he delivered the message. Just seemed relieved to be done with it.”

His communicator beeped, and looking down, he saw a message from Amberley. It was short and simple, a room number in the fortress, maybe three floors down and a short written message reading: “Get here right now! It’s important. Keep your manners in check.”

“Where did you say the runner told you I should go?” Cain asked, and he wasn’t even surprised when the floor and room number matched the one from Amberley’s message. 

Well, he might have considered ignoring the runner, but Amberley? He liked living a bit too much to risk angering her. 

“Well, Jurgen,” Cain said, rising to his feet with a reluctant grunt. “It seems like we’re going to a meeting.” He remembered the last sentence about manners, which made him add, “Only small firearms you can hide under your clothes. Hide a few melta grenades under your vest if you can manage without it being obvious.”

Cain himself had a vibroknife, and a laspistol hidden under his greatcoat, but he left his chainsword behind. 

Ten minutes later, they approached the hallway, and he started second-guessing himself. The hallway was as empty as a graveyard. There was no more obvious trap in history … which was why he doubted it was a trap at all. No one this amateurish would dare to ambush him inside a Fortress World as fortified as this. 

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he murmured, thumbing the grip of his hidden sidearm as he looked around with a narrowed gaze. 

Nothing. 

Then they were before the door leading to the room in question, a massive conference hall, by the little tablet hanging next to it on the wall. The door was massive, oversized for normal humans, and it didn’t take Cain long to figure out why. He had met Astartes before, been on missions with the Reclaimers Chapter long ago as a liaison for the Comisariat and the Guard. This conference hall was made with Astartes in mind, that was why the doorframe was ten feet tall and four feet wide.

He caught hints of a conversation from inside, well, more like a report. Only, it was Amberley’s voice speaking the report, and she was doing so in a deferential tone.

Shit. Who could make an Inquisitor act deferential? He really didn’t want to find out. 

If he knew the answer to that question back then, he would have turned around and run as fast as his feet would carry him. He wouldn’t have stopped until he managed to smuggle himself through the Warp Gate and got a sector or two of distance between himself and whatever trouble was brewing here.

Alas, he didn’t know, and as such, he merely suppressed a sigh and knocked on the door. In a moment, he put on the face of ‘Cain the Hero’, straight-backed, charismatic, inspiring, dependable. 

“Enter,” the voice that spoke was deep, powerful, rumbling in Cain’s bones. He wanted to curse, knowing that getting embroiled in Astartes problems usually wasn’t healthy for anyone involved, especially fragile little normal humans like him.

He squared his shoulders and elegantly opened the door, stepping inside with all the fake grace and confidence he had learned to project over his long life. 

His eyes landed on Amberley first, and a cold knot of dread coiled in his gut. Not because she seemed to be in danger, or under threat or anything of the sort, but just because she looked so … subdued, almost submissive. 

It felt unnatural to see her this way, but he understood it the moment he let his gaze pan around to take in the room.

His eyes zeroed in on the only other occupant of the room, who he had almost dismissed as an ostentatious statue. No Astartes was that large, and no Astartes wore gold, not as their primary colour anyway, none would dare.

Then his brain caught up with him, and he paled, and quickly bowed really deeply. 

“My Lord,” he said, proud of himself for not letting his voice waver. “You asked for me?”

What in the Emperor’s name was a Custodian doing here, of all places?! A better question yet was what could a Custodian want with him?

“I have,” the Custodian said, still as a statue aside from the slightest tilt of his helmet. “Rise. I am Octavian Gauius of the Custodian Guard, on a mission from the Captain-General himself, and I am in need of information. Your superior here has enlightened me to some of what I wanted to know, but I believe in working with all available information when possible.”

“I am at your service,” Cain said, his words not a lie for once. He still failed to fully comprehend it. Astartes were legends, each warrior deserving of songs. But Custodes? Never in his life had he so much as heard of anyone

he knew meeting a Custodian. They guarded the Golden Throne, serving only the Emperor. They were the Ten Thousand, the most elite, the most disciplined, the most faithful. They were more than legends, they were myths. 

As much of a non-religious man as Caiphas Cain was, he still venerated the God-Emperor in his heart of hearts. He just believed people should live their lives and achieve their goals by themselves, without screaming prayers at the Emperor to do everything for them. 

He was a believer, not an Emperor-botherer. So while his reaction was more subdued than a Battle Sister’s or an Ecclesiarch’s would have been, he still felt awed as he stood in the presence of one of the Emperor’s Custodian Guards. One of only ten thousand across the entire galaxy.

And he was standing before him. Asking for … what exactly?

“What information are you seeking, exactly, My Lord?” Cain asked, his every word crafted with deliberate care and delivered in a properly submissive tone. When dealing with superhumans, it always pays to be extremely careful. You never knew what would set off a particular Astartes Chapter; they each had their ticks, ticks he usually researched before meeting any. 

But a Custodian? A living myth that the majority of the Imperium might not even believe truly exists? And with the meeting practically dumped on his head?

He hadn’t the faintest clue what not to say. For all he knew, acting too submissive would offend the Custodian. Some Astartes saw any Guardsmen showing even the slightest indication of fear as a personal offence, one that they sought to fix posthaste.

Usually, by turning the offender into a combat servitor to ‘better serve the Emperor’. If it wasn’t obvious yet, he was thinking of the Iron Hands. 

Few Chapters were as … terrifying as the Iron Hands. Whoever thought infecting Space Marines with the Mechanicum’s ‘the flesh is weak’ lunacy was a good idea?

“I seek information about the events on the planet known as … Kazathor, was it, Inquisitor?” The Custodian asked, which was weird. Even Space Marines tended to have near-perfect memory. It was likely social manoeuvring then, for some reason Cain couldn’t decipher.

“Yes, My Lord,” Amberley replied with a nod. “Near the Canis Salient, a non-Imperial human world at high risk of becoming a Chaos World, its society infected by hidden cultists of the Ruinous Powers up to the highest echelons.”

“Yes, Kazathor,” The Custodian said musingly, almost dismissively. “What interests me more is how those cultists met their end, and at whose hands. I want to know everything about your encounter with the being known as Echidna. From what I hear from the Inquisitor, she introduced herself as ‘Emilia’.”

Cain felt a bit faint as a dawning sense of impending doom almost bowled him over. He had really been hoping this was about anything else, but it seemed he had escaped that mess far too easily. 

He also took note of the fact that the Custodian referred to her as ‘the being known as Echidna’. Not the Rogue Psyker Emilia. Not the Xeno Sorceress Echidna. No. 

'The being known as Echidna.'

Implying the Custodian didn’t know what she really was, and also suspected the name he knew her wasn’t her real name. 

Cain was not liking those implications at all. 

Still, he began speaking, recounting his experiences to the best of his ability with the diligence and detail expected of a military officer and then some.