Needless to say, the others weren't happy to learn they would have to travel in a Xenos' vessel for a fortnight.

  "Stay in the Guncutter, then," Attelus had sighed. "No, I order all of you to stay in the Guncutter. The alliance is tenuous enough already; I don't want any of you causing any trouble."

  "I'm guessing the psyker and your girlfriend are exempt from this?" Darrance had sneered.

  Attelus didn't say anything, he'd smiled, and his face turned red with embarrassment.

  "Yes, you are correct," Karmen had said in Attelus' stead. "Does that upset you, aristocrat?"

  Darrance didn't reply, just sneered again and folded his arms across his chest.

  "Is that everything, Attelus?" growled Helma. "Or have you got even more 'twists' for us?"

  Attelus frowned and shook his head. His eyes fell to the floor, and he shuffled uncomfortably.

  "Good," said Vark. "And dismissed, we're dismissed, right?"

  Attelus managed a nod.

  "Good," growled Vark. "'Cause we're done."

  Then everyone but Adelana and Karmen started to file out.

  "You'll still help me, right?" Attelus stammered desperately.

  It was Torris who turned and answered, "yeah, only because you'd manipulated us into promising before telling us this. You'll never change, will you?"

  "Nice work, apprentice," said Darrance.

  "I'm not an apprentice anymore; I'm a master now. Remember?" Attelus sighed.

  Darrance turned on him, "do you seriously think that I'll ever call you Master? On second thought, do you want me to call you 'master'?"

  There was a long, weighted pause before Attelus said, "no. No, I do not."

  The next day, The Calamandastron entered real space, and an hour later, the Guncutter flew out of the hangar bay. Into the void.

  Attelus had confined himself to his quarters, as had Karmen and Adelana theirs. He gave any instruction over vox and only if asked. The others barely talked to him. He hoped this wouldn't last long.

  This was a mistake he was determined to learn from. He remembered three years ago how he lectured Brutis Bones and the others on the importance of telling the truth.

  How much of a hypocrite Attelus was.

  At the thought of Brutis Bones, Attelus wondered what happened to the Inquisitor. Had he escaped the destruction of Omnartus? Attelus doubted that it would be him if anyone managed to escape. Had Brutis gone all the way back home to Segmentum Pacificus? Attelus envied the Inquisitor's natural charisma and leadership ability and wondered, what would he do now?

  The answer quickly came to the Throne Agent. Brutis Bones wouldn't have gotten in this predicament in the first frigging place.

  The beep of the vox caused Attelus to jump from his introspection.

  "We're approaching the coordinates you gave," said Darrance. "You and your girlfriends better get ready."

  "Got you," Attelus said as he stood and retrieved his sheathed power sword in an instant. "Anything on the scanners?"

  "No," said Darrance as though it was the stupidest question in existence. "If there is anything, I will call you."

  "Forget that," said Attelus. "I'm going up there."

  "Sure," said Darrance, uncaring. "You do whatever you want to do; you are the Master. After all.'

  Attelus winced while stepping out the door.

  Attelus was walking onto the small bridge when the Eldar vessel seemed to shimmer into existence. It was only two hundred kilometres away and dominated the view.

  Attelus gaped; he expected another moderately large explanatory craft. But this was a warship it was large, perhaps two kilometres in length and bristled with the esoteric weapons from length to width.

  "Not what you were expecting?" said Verenth, who sat at the hull-mounted weapon controls.

  "No," said Attelus. "Not even close."

  "Well," said Vark. "Just shows what you know."

  Attelus' attention snapped to the smirking Stormtrooper who sat at the scanner. "Unlike you, who knows everything."

  Vark shrugged.

  +Mon'keigh,+ a soft male voice suddenly echoed through Attelus' mind, causing him to flinch. It was heavily accented, a stark contrast to Faleaseen's easy to understand words. +I am Warlock Klrith of Dalorsia; this is the Kaltoria, the flagship of master autarch Raloth Arlyandor. I will psychically guide your pilot to what you term "the docking bay." I will not try to warn you what will happen if you do or even think of anything out of place. Even you Mon'keigh have the mental capacity to understand that, I hope.+

  "Charming," said Darrance. "What a positively charming Xenos. Maybe I'll share a recaff and cookies with this 'Warlock' and share war stories. That will be fun, sure as sure."

  The corner of Attelus' mouth twitched, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from pointing out the pilot's hypocrisy.

  Then Darrance looked over his shoulder at Attelus. "Are you sure this is the right way?"

  "Yes," said Attelus without hesitation. Then he turned and left, saying: "Excuse me, I have a meeting to attend to."

  Attelus wanted a smoke of Lho. He'd given up a few years ago, but the cravings still came when he was at his most nervous. Karmen and Adelana walked into the white, brightly lit, huge hanger bay. Their footfalls echoed on the wraithbone floor, and Attelus was uncomfortably reminded that his bones were made from the same stuff.

  Twenty Eldar stood in disciplined ranks, watching their approach through impassive red slits in their high helms. Everyone was at least two metres tall and inhumanly slender. Their shuriken catapults held in confident grasps.

  They were guardians, the militia of the Eldar. In the now-familiar colours of craftworld Dalorsia.

  "What do we do?" Adelana whispered in Attelus' ear, causing a shiver to go down his neck.

  "Stop there, that is what you do," said a voice that didn't just echo but boomed. It wasn't shouted but projected with such power and clarity that all three couldn't help freeze but in their tracks. It was the voice of a true commander, one of incomparable experience and charisma.

  Abruptly, the lines of guardians snapped simultaneously aside, making an opening in their ranks and two figures approached through. One was shorter than the others but no less slender, and he radiated an aura of such strength it was almost impossible not to stare. His armour was more ornate, and two flags flowed from the top of his backpack. In one hand, he held a shuriken catapult; the other held a beautiful single-edged power sword with a glowing red gem in its hilt. He lacked a helmet, and his long, brown hair was pulled up in a top knot and his almond-shaped eyes, fierce as he glared from under a hooded brow.

  The other wore robes covered in glowing, eldritch runes and whose elaborate helm stared at Attelus with indifference in stark contrast to the other.

  As they came close, Attelus had to fight the urge to flinch back. Neither Adelana nor Karmen managed it, though

  While he was short for an Eldar, the helmetless Eldar still loomed over Attelus, almost literally looking down his nose at the Throne agents.

  Then much to Attelus' surprise, the short Eldar suddenly sighed and facepalmed.

  "I cannot believe that I am losing out to you," he muttered, like Faleaseen; his voice lacked a strong accent indicating he'd spent some time mastering Low-Gothic.

  "Excuse me?" said Attelus, his eyes widening.

  "Never mind," said the Eldar, quickly finding his poise. "It is nothing to concern yourself with. As you may have guessed, I am master autarch Raloth Arlyandor, formally of Dalorsia, which is warlock Klrith. I welcome you aboard the Kaltoria; you are Attelus Xanthis Kaltos, I assume..."

  The autarch's eyes narrowed as he paused, "I have heard much about you."

  Attelus couldn't help but straighten and smile brightly. "Really?"

  "Yes, really," sighed Raloth Arlyandor. "And who are your companions?"

  "This is my...Apprentice Adelana Helgen and my sanctioned psyker, Karmen Kons."

  "Is this all of you?" said the warlock, his real voice even heavier accented in person. "As I understood, there were meant to be at least ten."

  "The rest of them are staying in the ship," said Attelus through clenched teeth.

  "Ah! I see," said Klrith. "Dissension in the ranks, how typically Mon'keigh of you."

  Raloth sighed again. "Klrith..."

  "And I do not understand that term 'sanctioned psyker," said the warlock quickly.

  "It means I am sanctioned by the Imperium of Mankind to practice the psychic arts in the Emperor's name," said Karmen.

  "That, sometimes I forget," said Klrith. "Most of your kind are blind to the skein, and the rest of you fear it out of ignorance."

  "Well," said Attelus. "Who can really blame us fearing it when you can blow up frigging buildings with a thought."

  "I will not have smart mouthing from you, little Mon'keigh," said Klrith. "Even if you are the leader of your little band of thugs. Well, supposedly the leader, not a very good one if you ask me."

  Attelus frowned, and his gaze fell to the floor. "Well, I have a lot to learn."

  "And that is one of the reasons you are here," said Raloth. "I am here to teach you much of what I know."

  A long, weighted silence and Klrith's impassive mask swivelled slowly to Raloth.

  "The Farseer did not-"

  "She did not tell you because she knew you would whine about it," interrupted Raloth, rolling his eyes. "How do you think I feel about this, Klrith? How?"

  Klrith's head tilted in what seemed amusement. "I do not know if this path is wise-"

  "It is the farseer's order, Klrith," said Raloth. "You do not have the right to question, for you lack even half the tact and wisdom she does."

  "Of course, you would say that you will do anything she tells you to-"

  "Dismissed, Klrith. Back to your quarters, that is an order."

  Klrith bristled, looked at Attelus, Karmen and Adelana witheringly. Then turned and stormed off.

  "My apologies for Klrith," said Raloth. "Believe it or not, we are all not like him. He is an excellent warlock, his talents make him one of the best under my command, but he can be rather...opinionated."

  "You're training me," said Attelus; he stood stiffly, barely processing this new revelation. Unable to even point out the autarch's massive understatement.

  "I am, and we haven't much time, only two of your weeks, so we will start in three of your hours, and in one, we will be entering the webway, understand?"

  "Understood."

  "Good, I will meet you here, then. Be ready, but it must be you and you alone, okay?"

  Attelus hesitated but nodded, gave an awkward salute, then turned on the balls of his feet, and he, Karmen and Adelana started back to the Guncutter.

  "What, a twist," said Adelana.

  "Yes," said Karmen, then glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder. "But at least we know they aren't a whole race of Darrances, now."

  Their combined laughter echoed.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  In silence, Raloth led Attelus through the corridors of his ship. It was like all the others Attelus had travelled in over the last three years. Quiet, there was no hum of engines. No smell of recycled oxygen purification chemicals. It was like he was back on Elbyra again, walking languidly through the Velrosian plains.

  The hustle and bustle of activity guardians ran back and around in training exercises throughout it. Attelus even managed to see a squad of five Eldar warriors in dark blue armour and white helmets. Multicoloured plumage of red, yellow and black rippled from the top of their helms. They wielded longer shuriken catapults than the guardians but what really set them apart was the fierce, almost palpable aura they emitted. Theirs was different than Raloth's, though. It was a war. Attelus had never truly fought in a large scale battle before, but he knew it when he felt it. One of them, a woman whose plumage was taller than the others, she wielded a powerspear and set on her arm was a strangely shaped, copper coloured device similar to that Raloth had on his left arm. Her aura was stronger than the others, it made Attelus nauseous, and he had to fight to keep himself from slowing. He was already struggling to keep with Raloth's long strides.

  "Raloth," said Attelus once the warriors passed and he regained his composure.

  "Refrain from calling me Raloth," said the autarch. "From henceforth, you will call me by my title. Autarch will do. I do not put precedence on the 'master' I may command the armies of Dalrosia as a whole, but there are other autarchs who surpass me in other ways. If I truly earned the title of Master, I would have to complete all the aspect warrior paths."

  "Yes, autarch," Attelus stammered. "I'm sorry, but may I ask, who were the warriors in blue armour?"

  Raloth kept his back to Attelus as he let out an amused snigger. "You asked to ask, then asked anyway. Is that not a contradiction? Yes, you may they; Attelus Kaltos are aspect warriors. Dire Avengers of the temple of Graceful Wrath. I had once trained under their Exarch, the one who wields the spear and the force shield. Haliazel Kelzein many, many cycles ago. Of course, she was not known as Haliazel Kelzein then. Her father had inhabited the exarch armour in those days."

  Attelus flinched as a thought hit him. "Autarch, why are you telling me this?"

  Raloth laughed. "That is an excellent question and one I did not expect from you. I believe farseer Faleaseen placed an incredibly elaborate, powerful block on your thoughts, did she not? So I believe that you would not be able to share this information even if you wanted to. And no one short of Eldrad Utlhran could pry it from your memory."

  "Falea...The Farseer has mentioned this Eldrad Ulthran on a few occasions now. Who is he? Or she?"

  "Questions, questions, you are truly a hub of questions, are you not?" laughed Raloth. "I am sorry, but I do not believe you need to know about the famous Eldrad Ulthran, not as of yet. Anyway, here we are."

  Raloth suddenly turned off the corridor and through a pair of hissing doors into a small cylindrical room. It was simple, unadorned but was obviously a training area.

  "This is my training quarters," said Raloth. "Usually, I would be training with my warriors, but over the next two weeks, we will be in here when you are not with your people on your ship."

  "Ah! I see!"

  "You see what?"

  "You train with your warriors to boost morale, am I right?"

  "You are, correct," said Raloth. "But it does not take incredible mental capacity to figure that out. Now, Attelus, before we start. I have a question for you."

  His eyes narrowed. "And you must answer truthfully. I am no seer, but I will know if you lie."

  Attelus nodded.

  "What do you want?" said the autarch.

  The question took Attelus off guard, but only for a second. "I want to hunt down Etuarq. I want to bring him to justice and avenge the countless people he has killed."

  Raloth looked at Attelus for a few, weighted seconds.

  "No," said the autarch eventually.

  "What? What do you mean, no?" Attelus exclaimed.

  "Remember, title! I am your teacher, Attelus Kaltos! This is a rare honour for a human such as you! And you will show me the respect I deserve! And yes: no. It is not the answer I am looking for. Now answer the question again and answer correctly this time. What do you want?"

  Attelus let out an animated sigh and stood struggling to think up another answer.

  "I...I don't know," he said. "Adelana? I want to be with Adelana; does that suffice?"

  Raloth shook his head, sighed and stroked his thin nose. "Yet again, you are incorrect."

  Attelus let out a loud groan and hunched forward.

  "Okay!" said the autarch. "Perhaps I am going about this the wrong way. You are human, and while the Farseer has gifted you immortality, you are unaccustomed to the thought of living so long and so...Why are you smiling?"

  "You said okay," said Attelus. "Autarch."

  "Yes? So?"

  "It is a term commonly used on my homeworld. My country, Velrosia to be exact, autarch."

  Raloth stared at Attelus briefly before flinching suddenly.

  "Forget about that!" Raloth snapped. "It is immaterial! Now, Attelus. When I asked you what you want, I meant uh, I forget that word. It means in a long time. I mean, what do you want after you manage to defeat the Etuarq mon'keigh. What do you want in the...In the-"

  "Long term?"

  Raloth pointed at Attelus with an animated movement. "That is it! You mon'keigh and your low-Gothic! I have spent many cycles trying to master the language but have yet to achieve it."

  "Well, nobodies perfect," said Attelus with a shrug, and he had to fight the urge to shuffle impatiently.

  "Wise words, I must confess," said Raloth. "Not even my kind, no matter how much many of us proclaim so. So, Attelus Kaltos, now you understand what I mean, please answer the question. Take your time if you must."

  Attelus smiled and thought, but it didn't take long for him to find the answer. The memory of sitting in that aircraft, flying to Taryst's tower three years ago, suddenly sprung into his mind.

  "I want to travel the galaxy," he said. "I want to teach what I've learned in my long life to later generations. Teach them the mistakes their forefathers made, so they may never repeat them again."

  Raloth smiled. "That is a noble cause, Attelus. But I fear it is one doomed for failure. As I understand it, your Emperor tried the same, and he failed. Spectacularly. What makes you think you can succeed? And what may or may not be mistakes could be up to interpretation."

  "I don't know, autarch," said Attelus. "But by the throne, I'll try. And I'll try to keep it simple. Don't build nuclear weapons, don't worship the chaos gods, etcetera, etcetera."

  The autarch nodded with what might've been respect. "That is a sign of wisdom, Attelus Kaltos. Being able to admit that you 'don't know' when you do not know. I am steadily seeing what Faleaseen sees in you."

  Attelus couldn't help be taken aback by the melancholy tingeing the autarch's tone.

  "D-did I answer correctly?"

  "You did," said Raloth as, with blinding speed, he drew his power sword, and it blazed into life. "Your training begins in earnest!"

  Then with a snarl, he charged.

  For seemingly the fiftieth time, Attelus was thrown onto his arse. Power sword flying from his grasp.

  "You have skill," said Raloth as he lightly paced. "And your speed and reflexes are far beyond normal humans, perhaps even rivalling some of the dark kin. But you have yet to reach your true potential."

  "I thought you were going to teach me how to be a leader," said Attelus. "Not kicking the ever-loving crap out of me."

  Raloth barked out a laugh. "Your speed, it even outdoes mine, but I have something you do not."

  "What?"

  "Experience. I have been an autarch for over five hundred of your years. I have fought against the dark kin; many were more skilled than I. I have killed Space Marines who have given their souls to the four and have received their blessings. I have even fought and defeated the elite of the elite, the assassins of your Imperium who were far more skilled than I, but yet I am here while they are not. Why do you think that is?"

  "Hmm," Attelus mused as he climbed to his feet, searching for the answer, but it alluded him. "Sorry. Don't know why?"

  "Patience, thinking ahead," said Raloth as though it was the most obvious answer in the galaxy. "Fighting and the Path of Command are the same things. As I understand it, you humans have a game called Regicide, am I correct?"

  "I suck at Regicide," Attelus sighed.

  "Well, get better. You must learn to think not five or six moves ahead but dozens, even hundreds if needs be. There is always someone stronger, faster and more skilled than you, so do not just trust in your skill and speed but in your mind as well. You have trained, so your body moves on its own accord, I can see. Your mind is clear, so use it."

  Attelus nodded; his father had never said that. Serghar Kaltos had always emphasised going in for the kill. Plan for the initial strike, but whatever happened after was fair game, but Serghar wasn't a commander; he was an assassin, pure and simple.

  "I see."

  "You must think the same way of those who you command," said Raloth. "You must know the strength, weaknesses and personalities of your men. What they will do and how they will do it, ten, twenty moves ahead."

  "Just like one must know how and why all the units in Regicide move," said Attelus, his eyes widening in realisation.

  "Precisely, but do not think of them as mere units on the board. They have hopes, dreams and wants and needs just the same as you. Tell me, Attelus Kaltos, what is the true meaning of being a commander?"

  Attelus pouted and shrugged. "Command?"

  Raloth laughed and shook his head. "Yes, but no. The true meaning of being a commander is to serve. You serve those which you command; you serve them so they can be the best they can be. You direct them while you consider the big picture while they consider the small."

  "I'm the mind; they're the body one and same, yet separate. I serve them, so they serve me. Is that right?"

  "That is correct. But yet again, it does not take much intellect to figure that out. Do not be too happy with your achievements; there is always, always, more to learn. Now, I think that is enough for today. Go back to your companions, and we will start discussing the why and how your group has fallen out tomorrow."

  Attelus nodded and started for the door but paused and looked back to Raloth.

  "If you know so much about those under your command, why did you only let Klrith know now you were training me?" Attelus said. "You must've known he would react so negatively."

  "I did," said Raloth.

  Attelus waited, expecting elaboration, but the Eldar said nothing more.

  Verenth sat at the table in the common room. He paused in the midst of reassembling his auto pistol. He must've done it dozens of times now. His trigger finger twitched. He wished he could do target practice, but the Guncutter was too confined, and he wouldn't have left into the Eldar hangar bay even he wanted to.

  Verenth had watched through the bolter turret's window as Attelus, Karmen, and Adelana had met them. He had never seen an Eldar before, but they were as alien as he imagined.

  That was until he saw the one without a helmet on and...

  It seemed human, nothing like he'd imagined.

  "I don't get you," said a voice that knocked Verenth from his thoughts, and Vark approached, pulled out a chair and sat across from him. "After you joined the Inquisition, you could've wielded Hell guns or bolters or so much more, but you still insist on using that dinky old autopistol; why?"

  "My brother gave me it," said Verenth.

  "The brother that Attelus killed, right?" said Vark.

  Verenth furrowed his brow.

  "No, I get it," said Vark. "You're very sentimental; that's kind of your thing, right? But you know what I really don't get-"

  "How I can work with the man who killed my brother?" Verenth said.

  "Yeah."

  "Vark, we've fought together on a few occasions, and you've saved my arse, and I've saved yours. But as far as I'm concerned, we're colleagues. No more, no less. I'm never going to ever tell you that. Got it?"

  Vark exhaled through his nose and leaned back in his chair.

  "I understand, fair enough," said Vark, raising his hands in deference. "But I have another question for you."

  Verenth grimaced; he didn't like the Stormtrooper's smile.

  "You are a pious man, aren't you?"

  Verenth looked at Vark but said nothing.

  "You and I attend church regularly, but have you ever wondered why so many of us don't? Least of all, the senior staff. I have never seen Arlathan, Attelus or even the Inquisitor herself. Have you?"

  No, thought Verenth.

  "That's because she, like Arlathan and Attelus, believe that it is better to serve the Emperor through action rather than prayer," said Helma as she approached from the stairs Delathasi following her. "I am the same. What are you trying to do, Vark?"

  "I'm just having a conversation with my good colleague here," said Vark. "And I would say that both prayer and service would be better."

  "Yes, well, you don't have quite the same responsibility they do," said Helma. "I was a captain in the Imperial guard, remember?"

  "Yeah! And now you're subordinate to some lying little Xenos lover, how about that?"

  Helma sighed. "We are in the Inquisition now, Vark. It's a whole new mentality, a mindset I don't have. I don't mind being demoted at all; you and I are soldiers, Vark. Not Throne Agents."

  Verenth couldn't help snigger. "I agree, Helma. Vark, your manipulation skill is about a subtle as a bolt round."

  Vark grimaced.

  "I just think something is wrong," said Vark. "First, we must work with Xenos, so what next? Heretics?"

  Vark was answered with silence, so kept on, "and if Attelus has been keeping this under wraps, who knows what else he's keeping. Who knows what else the Inquisitor is keeping."

  "We all have secrets, Vark," said Delthasi. "You respected Verenth's choice to keep his, didn't you?"

  Vark gaped. "That-that's different if it's important to the mission-"

  "I would say Attelus has already shared the information that was important to the mission," said Delathasi. "I am angry; you are angry all of us are, and rightfully so, but there is more at stake here than our anger."

  "Like bringing down the bastard responsible for destroying my homeworld," said Verenth as he began to reassemble his autopistol again. "And stopping him from doing it again."

  Vark glared at Verenth.

  "Wise words, Delathasi," said Attelus as he abruptly appeared at the head of the left side staircase. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

  Despite her dark skin, Delathasi's blush was hard to miss.

  "How was your time with your Xenos friends?" said Vark accusingly.

  Verenth guessed not very well by Attelus' beaten, ragged appearance.

  "Could've been better, could've been worse, in all honesty," Attelus shrugged. "They're surprisingly accommodating, actually."

  "You're not dead, so colour us surprised," said Helma.

  "Not dead yet," corrected Vark.

  Attelus sighed, walked past them and into the kitchen. "If they wanted us dead, we would already be dead," he said while sliding out a ready-made ration meal from the food chiller.

  "But what if we already are dead, and this is one of their witches playing tricks with our minds?" said Vark.

  "And people call me paranoid!" said Attelus.

  "Just saying we shouldn't trust 'em is all," said Vark.

  "And what do you think we should do, Vark?" said Attelus. "Fly out of their hanger bay, into the webway with no idea where to go? What to do?"

  Vark shrugged.

  Attelus abruptly angrily tossed the meal into the micro oven, folded his arms and brooded, back against the bench.

  Verenth raised an eyebrow; as much as he disliked the kid, he had a point.

  The micro oven beeped, and Attelus opened it, took out the meal and stormed out.

  "Excuse me, just had the crap kicked out of me for the last three hours," he said. "Really need some sleep."

  A thought occurred to Verenth, and he quickly picked up his pistol then followed Attelus down the stairs.

  "You know you and me have a lot in common," said Verenth once they stepped off the stairs and started toward the living quarters.

  Attelus stopped and turned to Verenth; eyebrow raised, "are you hitting on me? Because despite what many people seem to believe, I don't swing that way."

  "I wouldn't hold it against you if you did," said Verenth.

  "You already have enough more than enough to hold against me, Verenth."

  "We both were the scum of the 'verse not long ago," said Verenth. "So we both know that not much is black and white."

  "Yes."

  "So don't blame Vark too much. He's just doing what he thinks is right, and a lot of what he just said is what you said three years ago."

  Attelus nodded, visibly taken aback. "Thanks."

  Verenth nodded back, turned and left.

  Attelus barely managed to back-step Raloth's horizontal slash, then weaved aside a stab.

  "So this Vark character," said the autarch as he parried Attelus' counter. "He sounds like the model Imperial citizen."

  "He is!" Attelus gasped as his diagonal downward cut was sidestepped. "And he's a right royal pain in the arse!"

  "But this Verenth character who has more reason to hate you than anyone else seems on your side."

  "Yes!" said Attelus as he danced away from a thrust. "I can say I never saw that coming!"

  "People will always surprise you," said Raloth. "No matter what you know."

  "Or think you know!" said Attelus, cutting horizontally at Raloth's neck, which the autarch leaned back from.

  "Indeed!" said Raloth as his uppercut connected with Attelus' side and sent him sprawling to the ground. "Although I knew you left yourself wide open there."

  Raloth approached Attelus and offered his hand. "I am surprised you didn't kill this Vark."

  "What? Why?" said Attelus as Raloth pulled him to his feet, and he tried to ignore the pain in his ribs.

  "He is a threat, a threat to your leadership and to your mission. Many of your kind would have killed him as an example."

  Attelus shook his head and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Vark is a veteran of the Omnartus incident, and there are few enough survivors of that as it is, and we have worked together on a few occasions-"

  "You are letting sentiment cloud your judgement, Attelus Kaltos."

  "Would you have killed him?"

  "No," said Raloth. "I would not have."

  "But you said that sentiment was clouding my judgement!"

  "Yes, I did, and yes, you were. You did the right thing but for the wrong reason."

  "Why wouldn't you have killed him then, autarch?"

  "There are a few reasons. First and foremost is it will make you look like a bully and a tyrant. One who leads by fear, and you have already established you do not want to be that kind of leader, so killing him will contradict this. In my long experience, it is better to lead by example. To earn loyalty through word and action. The tyrant's way is the way of the dark kin, and many of the leaders of your Imperium and more likely will lead you to be murdered in your sleep or abandoned when at your direst hour."

  "It's also the way of the liar and manipulator," said Attelus, remembering with disturbing clarity his former Master, Glaitis, shrieking in agony. A knife lodged in her spine. Attelus hoped he had learned from Glaitis' and Taryst's mistakes but seemingly not.

  "Indeed," said Raloth; he said nothing more, just stared down at Attelus.

  The Throne Agent shook his head. "I've tried to reason with the idiot. He just won't see sense. What...what do you think I should do?"

  Raloth sighed. "I will be honest with you, Attelus Kaltos. He has a right to be angry; they all have a right to be angry. I only have one suggestion, but I do not think you will like it."

  "What?"

  The autarch told him, and he was right; Attelus didn't like it. Not at all.