V3 Chapter 65: Seen Through? No, This Was Part of My Plan All Along!
Guilliman still stood before Huron.
The Primarch's oppressive presence blanketed the entire reception hall. The Astral Claws' Chapter Master knelt on the ground, the servo-joints at the knees of his silver-blue Terminator armour letting out a dull groan under the strain. The hall was utterly silent, save for the flame still burning along the Emperor's Sword.
In the midst of that silence, Duvette suddenly sensed a gaze upon him.
It lasted only an instant, as though withdrawing from some dying piece of wreckage. Duvette narrowed his eyes and looked toward the remains of the assassins Guilliman had cut apart.
Then he strode over.
In an atmosphere thick enough to choke on, his movement stood out sharply. Aside from Huron, still kneeling, and Guilliman, still looking down at him, every eye in the hall turned to Duvette.
The local Badab dignitaries knelt on the floor, pale-faced and trembling. They watched the mortal Commissar walk past the Primarch's side, and nearly all of them had the same thought rise in their minds at once.
Was he not afraid of provoking the Imperial Primarch's wrath?
The First Company veterans of the Astral Claws stared fixedly at Duvette as well.
They knew this man had just been standing at Guilliman's side, and that his standing was no ordinary thing. But they had no idea what he intended now, and could only suppress their instincts, grip their weapons tight, and wait for Huron's order.
Their own Chapter Master had been forced to his knees.
Even if the one bearing down on their Chapter Master was the Imperial Primarch, to these veterans who had followed Huron for so long, it was still a humiliation. Had Huron given the order to resist, even against Guilliman, even knowing their only outcome was death, they would have moved.
Duvette paid no mind to any of those stares.
He walked up to one of the remains and looked down at the ground.
The power armour had already been cut open by the Emperor's Sword, its outer Astral Claws livery still burning. But beneath the split breastplate, there was no flesh, no bone, only a layer of ash filling the interior of the shell.
Duvette's gaze then fell to the side.
There lay a necklace made of red crystal, or rather, an amulet disguised as a necklace. It had fallen out through a gap in the wreckage, a faint red glow still visible across the crystal's surface.
Duvette's expression gave nothing away as a smile crossed his face.
So it was that blue-feathered old bird's handiwork, was it? Trying to spark a civil war by staging an assassination disguised as the Astral Claws' doing?
Heh... you'd think he'd try a different approach for once.
Duvette looked up, toward Guilliman and Huron, still locked in silence in the distance.
He gave a couple of coughs, and spoke according to the plan he and Guilliman had already agreed upon.
"Lord Guilliman. This, I'm afraid, was very likely not the Astral Claws' doing."
Guilliman's gaze shifted to him.
The fury feigned on the Primarch's face did not fade, and if anything he made it look colder still.
"Explain, Commissar."
Huron watched Duvette out of the corner of his eye.
He had not expected that, at a moment like this, the first person to buy him any room to breathe would be this very mortal Commissar he had, only moments ago, privately held in contempt.
Duvette gave the kneeling Huron a glance as well.
Then he pointed at the wreckage on the ground.
"There are no bodies inside this power armour. Only ash. A genuine Astartes, even cut down, would leave behind organic tissue and skeletal fragments."
He paused a moment, then looked toward the Astral Claws veterans.
"Whatever these things were, they wore Astral Claws armour, but they were not genuine Astral Claws warriors."
Guilliman said nothing.
The expressions of many in the hall shifted.
Huron froze as well.
He understood the meaning of those words at once.
These assassins were not his warriors. Yet they had stood within his own reception line, wearing Astral Claws power armour, and fired upon the Imperial Primarch.
Duvette bent down and picked up the red crystal necklace.
The instant his fingers touched the crystal, the psychic power sealed within it suddenly erupted. Red light poured out through the cracks in the crystal, as though some forcibly compressed voice were tearing itself free of its bindings.
Duvette's brow furrowed in an instant.
Without hesitation, he hurled the necklace toward an empty corner of the hall.
The instant it struck the ground, it burst violently apart.
A grating laugh rang out across half the hall.
The voice carried mockery, and a certain lofty, condescending delight.
"My brother. I wonder, was my welcome to your liking?"
Everyone in the hall went rigid.
The voice continued.
"You are amusing, mortal."
Duvette's expression darkened.
"Your actions were part of the plan as well. What I set out to do is already done."
Guilliman tightened his grip on the Emperor's Sword.
The voice still echoed within the red glow of the shattered crystal.
"Do enjoy this, Guilliman. Facing the wrath of your brother..."
Duvette let out a cold snort.
[Silence] deployed in an instant.
Every sound was forcibly cut off in the next moment. The necklace's fragments still lay on the ground, but had lost all their glow, and the air in the hall seemed to settle back into place, many of the mortals present only now realising they had forgotten to breathe.
Guilliman, frowning, exchanged a look with Duvette.
Both had understood the malice in those words.
But now was not the time to go after Magnus.
Guilliman looked back at Huron once more.
Huron's face carried an astonishment he could not conceal. He knew these assassins had not been his own warriors, and he knew just as well that this did not give him grounds to walk away entirely clean.
"Rise," Guilliman said.
Huron stiffened for a moment, then rose slowly to his feet.
The servo-structure of his Terminator armour let out a heavy groan. He stood before the Primarch once more, but the presence he once carried had been utterly crushed by that single act of kneeling.
Guilliman's voice remained cold.
"This affair may not have been the Astral Claws' direct doing. But it still concerns you."
Huron lowered his head.
"Chaos traitors infiltrated your Chapter, stood within your own reception line, and opened fire on me inside your own star port."
Guilliman took a step forward.
"And you knew nothing of it."
Huron opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to object.
But he quickly realised he genuinely had noticed nothing at all.
Where those things had come from, how they had entered the formation, why they had been able to stand among his own First Company veterans, none of it, he could answer.
Guilliman let out a cold snort.
"This is dereliction, and incompetence."
Huron lowered his gaze, forcing down the humiliation churning in his chest.
Guilliman continued. "You will voluntarily hand over the Astral Claws' current Chapter organisation records, the roster of the honour guard present in this reception hall, the last twenty years of gene-seed stockpile and submission records, shipyard and fleet maintenance and personnel transfer logs, and Badab Prime's security clearance records."
Huron's breath caught for an instant.
What all of that meant, he understood better than anyone.
A thought flashed through his mind.
Should he keep trying to deceive the Primarch?
But the thought lasted only a moment.
He had only just cried out his loyalty in front of everyone. The assassination attempt had happened during his own welcoming ceremony. If he refused now, Guilliman would need no further evidence to treat the Astral Claws as an enemy.
Just then, Duvette walked to stand beside Guilliman.
His expression was calm.
"This is a chance the Primarch is willing to give you."
Huron looked at him.
Duvette said, "If you can help the Primarch get to the truth of this, Lord Guilliman may well not mind letting merit offset fault."
Huron gritted his teeth.
This mortal had just freed him from the most dangerous accusation, and was now, with his own hand, pushing him straight into another inquiry.
But he had no choice.
Huron drew a deep breath, and said, head bowed, "The Astral Claws will cooperate fully with the Primarch's investigation."
Duvette glanced at Guilliman's expressionless face.
Guilliman gave a nod.
"I will remain aboard the Macragge's Honour for the time being, to handle matters concerning Badab."
He looked toward the local officials still kneeling around them.
"The mortals here will be handed over to the Inquisition for isolation, questioning, and memory processing. No one involved is to leave Badab Prime's orbital range."
Guilliman turned back to Huron.
"Lufgt Huron. I will decide your fate by what you do from this point forward."
With that, Guilliman turned and walked back toward the docking bay.
The Honour Guard withdrew at once, and the Black Shields regrouped as well. The pressure in the reception hall had not entirely lifted, but everyone knew the most dangerous moment had passed, though for every Badab native present, the shadow of death had not yet fully faded.
Duvette did not leave right away.
He looked at the shaken, hollowed-out Huron, and said quietly, "Look after yourself, Chapter Master."
Huron raised his head.
The look in his eyes was as complicated as it could possibly be.
Duvette said nothing more.
He turned and followed after Guilliman, walking back to the Macragge's Honour under Huron's watching gaze.