As the lights turned on all across Fort Carmine’s campus, Marsh followed Prince Constantine into a warehouse adjacent to the motor pool entrance. He slid the heavy metal door open. The smell of hay and animal dung assaulted Marsh Silas’s senses and he instinctively covered his nose. Constantine did not react as he flipped a switch. Huge overhead lamps flashed on, casting stark white light on the various bays on either side of the chamber.

  A few menials, who had been operating by lamp packs, shuffled about. They pitched hay bales, swept up loose straw, or collected dung in carts. One led a horse down the chamber and into one of the stalls. The metal gate shut with a clang that echoed through the hall. Some of the other horses snorted and whinnied.

  The 10th Kasrkin’s regimental staff kept a number of horses for ceremonial purposes. Mostly, these were parades or reviews of the entire regiment. The latter was a very rare occasion as the companies were often posted in different regions on Cadia or even other planets within the Sector.

  “I understand you can ride,” Constantine said over his shoulder as they continued down the stable.

  “If by ride you mean motorbikes, then yes.” The nearby motor pool did not only hold their fleet of Taurox Primes but also a variety of personal vehicles. Mostly owned by the staff and not the junior leadership, they consisted of customized scout cars. But Marsh kept his own private motorbike, which he took out during the long drives between Kasrs Prolieum and Sonnen.

  He leered at a dark-eyed horse who seemed to watch him. “As for these creatures, I’ve only been on one a few times since I assumed my officership. Tricky things. I’d rather walk or ride.”

  “An infantryman you will always be,” Constantine said, amused. They came to the last stall where they found a beautiful white horse with brown socks and a big pink nose. The Prince cooed and the horse came over to the rail. Pressing his face against the horse’s long face, Constantine stroked its mane and scratched its neck.

  He whispered in the creature’s ear, causing it to twitch. His hand slid under the horse’s chin and scratched. “I grew up with horses at my family’s estate,” he said. “They are such tender, attentive, and emotional creatures. Like humans, they play and fuss, love and sorrow. I wish I understood this sooner in my youth. Back then, I considered them to be otherworldly beasts. I treated them as such and they let me know it with so many bites and bucks.”

  Constantine opened the gate and the horse calmly walked out. Marsh Silas instinctively stepped back. The horse had some fearsome looking teeth and he did not want to be snapped at. But the Prince embraced the creature by its neck and the horse bowed his head. Snorting and snuffling, it cradled its rider closer. When the officer finally withdrew, he smiled at Marsh. “Why, I wondered, did these animals refuse me? Me, a man shaped in the Emperor’s great vision. Then, I realized that by mistrusting them, I made myself untrustworthy. To be trusted, you must not only be trustworthy, you must be trusting of others.”

  Menials arrived with tack, bridles, and saddles. Constantine stepped away as they prepared the animal. Going to the stall behind Marsh, the Prince ushered another horse out. It was brown with many white dots on his face and abdomen. This one did not appear as affectionate as the other and Constantine reciprocated its indifference. The two stared at one another for a few moments before the rider gently brushed his hand along the animal’s side. This caused its shadowy tail to swing back and forth.

  More menials arrived. When the horses were saddled, Constantine swung himself onto the first horse. He nodded towards the second. “He’s yours. His name is Eighty.”

  “Eighty? Beg pardon, sir, but it is not a name I would have chosen for a horse. It is just a number.”

  “Even numbers can have meanings, Knight-Lieutenant. Mount up.”

  “Without spurs or stirrups?”

  “The horsemen of old rode without them. So can we.”

  Marsh heaved an apprehensive breath and finally climbed onto the horse. He winced and prepared to be bucked, but the horse remained calm. It did not seem at all bothered by his presence. After a moment, he leaned forward and patted its wide neck.

  “You’re not so bad, Eighty,” Marsh said gently. He sat there, the reins in his hand. “How do I get him to move?”

  “Squeeze him with your legs.” Constantine demonstrated and his horse slowly walked down the chamber. Marsh Silas repeated this and Eighty moved on at a slow pace. The two Kasrkin exited the stable and rode around the perimeter of Fort Carmine’s campus. As the evening darkness grew deeper, the air grew wetter. Despite the moisture, the air tasted remarkably clear. Even the kasr’s manufactorum pollution was absent.

  Marsh gazed at the Prince. Constantine moved very well, his body gently swaying with the lackadaisy steps of his horse. A man so mysterious and unreadable suddenly appeared quite content. The smile he wore was almost childlike in its happiness and his deep purple eye brightened. Suddenly, the dark hair, shadowy stubble, and menacing eyepatch lost their foreboding mask.

  Prince Constantine noticed Marsh’s staring and smiled at him. “I enjoy riding in the evening. It is quiet and peaceful. These are not the destriers of a Rough Rider regiment— horses so used to the calamities of battle. No, these ones, they do not appreciate the sounds of machinery and lasbolts. So, I take them out now.”

  “I suppose it is a good thing Cadians have long since traded their horses for tanks, armored personnel carriers, self-propelled artillery, and motorbikes.” ‘Rough Rider,’ was a traditional designation for many units throughout the Imperium which relied on traditional cavalry tactics. But for light mechanized Cadian regiments which possessed fleets of motorbikes and all-terrain vehicles, it still applied.

  “Naught but shams of the real thing,” Constantine sniffed. “You might be hard-pressed to believe this, but the Emperor had permitted Cadia to raise horse regiments in the past. I commanded one before I was honored with advancement to the Kasrkin.”

  “You charged into battle with lances and pistols?” Marsh said, incredulous.

  “Don’t be so dramatic; we could fire our lascarbines from horseback. At times, we dismounted,” Constantine huffed dismissively. “And I tell you, that was one of the finest regiments Cadia ever gave birth to, though their record has been concealed and it lives on only with me.”

  “Beg pardon, my Prince, I cannot help but find that hard to believe. A great regiment’s history should not be obscured.”

  Marsh’s mind swam with the possibilities. Failure of duty? Treason? Dishonor of the highest regard—retreating from battle unprompted, or, Throne, surrender? Yet each of these scenarios did not sit right. The man before him was still a loyal son of Cadia and one of the most fearsome. Treason, surrender, cowardice, none of these applied.

  Constantine gripped his reins tighter. His single eye stared ahead grimly. Marsh Silas wondered if he overstepped. Beneath them, the horses snorted uncomfortably. It seemed as though they sensed the Prince’s change in mood.

  “It was a tragedy,” Constantine whispered quietly.

  They made another circuit of the campus. Patrons started to leave the banquet hall and each time the doors opened, the music and voices burst momentarily from within. Constantine’s sudden darkness abated and he nodded towards the hall. “I suppose it is a good thing that you and your men are able to divine and spread your purposes among such a trivial gathering. Most of the fools in there who are not of a soldier’s stock will never understand how insignificant their work is next to ours.”

  Constantine glowered. “They do not understand what it is we do. The sacrifices to be made, the suffering we endure. Even the greatest trial of a pampered lord or obese merchant pales to our most simplest of challenges. What do they know of loss? No, they sit, dine, and play their petty games while we, the soldiery of the Imperium, bleed upon one million planets.”

  He pulled gently on the reins and his horse stopped. After Marsh paused his own mount, Constantine reached over and touched Marsh’s medals. “You bear two Triple Skulls upon your chest. I have one, delivered to me in the year 95. My regiment was tasked to investigate the machinations of a growing cult among the isolated farmsteads on the outskirts of a new Civilized World’s urban developments. What we uncovered was heresy and we resolved to snuff it out. It became a battle.”

  Constantine veered to the left and they approached the flagstaff. With a squeeze and a gentle tug on the reins, Marsh followed. Drawing ahead of him, the Prince looped around the pole and stopped beside it. The Knight-Lieutenant brought his mount to a stop. “I was promised support by the various Adepta on the planet. Artillery, armor, air, supplies, but none of it arrived. The battle was hard-fought and the cult was destroyed. Despite the victory, my regiment was annihilated, though not by force of arms.”

  The Prince gazed up at the 10th Regiment’s red flag, rippling in the evening breeze. “It would have been preferred that we all died after what transpired. My survival would rouse suspicion and even if cleared of any charges, I would have embarrassed the planetary superiors. No one came to rescue us. But, there was one man who did, one man who defied orders to rescue somebody he did not know, and he brought me home.”

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  A sad smile spread across Constantine’s face. He gazed back at Marsh Silas. “That was Warden-Colonel von Bracken. Once I knew a man who paid no gravitas to the nobles. Now, he has become someone who seeks an office of his own. So he caters to those politicians. I, however, do not. You strike me as a man who is not keen to waste time on them, either.”

  “I wish to serve all Mankind,” Marsh Silas said firmly. “But only those who are dutiful to the Emperor and their fellow people. Should they come to abuse their powers and misuse their wealth, I see them as an infected wound. It must be cured or cut away. I will attempt the former first and the latter out of necessity.”

  Marsh’s violet gaze fell suddenly. “I know not when or if that time will come. Right now, I try to make some good for the Imperium’s warriors, no matter their uniforms. It is more than giving them just leadership, good orders, and righteous assignments; it is about saving their lives. That is what I do.”

  “I was in conversation with Major Bristol not long ago. We talked about your spectacular rescue of the people in Drasquez Tower. You saved many lives.”

  “We. I did not do it alone,” Marsh corrected.

  “Bristol said to me, ‘that may be, but he can’t save everyone.’ He is right, even if I wish he were not.”

  “I do not give a damn what Bristol says. I am saving lives.” Marsh Silas winced, thinking of all the dupes they suffered and the mounting casualty lists coming in from other posts. “I am trying to, at the very least.”

  Marsh Silas slid off the horse and led it over to the Prince. He tied the reins to the bridle before stepping back. “I am retiring for the evening, sir.” Constantine held his cap by the bill and lifted it. The Knight-Lieutenant did the same before they saluted one another. Marsh decided to fetch his motorbike from the motor pool and spend his night elsewhere from the base. The soldier’s hall where Lauraine worked would do well.

  He stopped and balled his hands into fists. Looking up, Marsh Silas gritted his teeth. When he glanced over his shoulder, Prince Constantine still sat astride his horse. He watched Marsh intensely. “You mean to tell me something, yet withhold it. Nay, you hide it within a story.” Constantine did not reply nor made any indication. Marsh approached him, his hair and open coat flowing with the wind. His medals jingled with the lazy gusts. “Your regiment was destroyed but not by the enemy.”

  “The death of the regiment came from within. Traitors were among us,” Constantine said coldly.

  “You are withholding more from me.”

  “It is not pertinent. You too face a traitor.”

  “My platoon harbors no treason.”

  “I make no such accusations, merely that one of the spies is close to you. You have developed a circle of reliable, trusted individuals within and outside your platoon. You trust them implicitly, and they you, yes? Yet, how is it that the information shared only within that band has still reached the ears of our foes?” Constantine leaned forward on his horse. “After I changed my ways with the horses, there was a very reliable new one I befriended despite his nibbles. I thought him tame, I thought him my companion, until the day he bit me.”

  Constantine unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up. A faded scar decorated his right forearm. “The bite crushed part of the bone and I grew sick from the infection. The fault? My trust. For you see, it must be mitigated by judgment and wariness. Trust, but do not do so entirely until you have affirmed you bond with another. Otherwise, it is just complacency, and you will pay for it in the end.” He sat back up, buttoned his sleeve, and scoffed. “Just like this Imperium you are trying to rescue.”

  Constantine sat lower in the saddle and breathed in the night air. It was still fresh. Marsh Silas’s gaze had fallen as the Prince had spoken.

  “Ghent was right. My heart’s too damned big,” Marsh finally said with a pitiful chuckle.

  “You should keep only those who enhance, improve, and uplift you within your heart. Look deeply into yourself. Think on who dwells there and find the one who has used your love against you.”

  “And then?”

  Constantine squeezed his horse with his legs and brought it towards Marsh Silas. The beast loomed over him. His superior gazed down, cold and hard.

  “All the little nibbles I misjudged led to that horse’s bite. Afterwards, no more risks could be taken. I shot that horse.”

  “Was he the only horse you ever shot, sir?”

  Constantine turned his horse’s head and squeezed him. With the other animal in tow, the Prince trundled towards the stable.

  “You have already begun to look within yourself, lest you would have shared the details of Romilly’s whereabouts with everyone on your council, not just those who were present at Drasquez Tower.” Marsh Silas’s eyes widened and Constantine held up his hand. “Only Bristol and I know where he is. We will tell no one, not even von Bracken. Consider us a part of your little council. Goodnight, Marsh Silas.”

  The air grew colder and Marsh buttoned his coat over his tunic. He closed the collar around his lower face and turned away. As he lit his pipe, a feeling of gloom settled over him. He desired to be anywhere else; he was done with Fort Carmine and the night’s affair.

  There was no questioning of Hyram, Fremantle, or Walmsley Major. He’d fought alongside his platoon sergeant since they were youths in the 540th Youth Regiment. Hyram had become his brother since he arrived a few years ago. To question these men’s loyalty and hatred of the Archenemy was beyond disrespectful, it was illogical. Fremantle he had known for nearly two solar years. While new compared to the others, Commissars rarely fell to the whims of the enemy. He had no reason to become a turncoat, his heart was too devout and too loyal.

  Gabler? No, impossible. She was a Kasrkin just like the others. Cadians could fall to the predation of the enemy, it was true. Such a fact was hard for Marsh to bear but he would be a fool to deny it. But a Kasrkin succumbing to corruption? Nothing of the like had ever been recorded and Gabler was far from being the first. She was a real soldier and he trusted her more than any other platoon leader in the entire 10th Kasrkin.

  Romilly was cleared of any wrongdoing. He delivered Marsh Silas and Gabler their first solid piece of intelligence in the months they’d been operating in the theater. If he were indeed the spy manipulating them, his methods were too convoluted to be productive. What man would give them a viable target only to sabotage the next whilst orchestrating his own murder? Or was it a ruse, a mock capture to conceal his return to the other traitors? Doing so in daylight with such a bombastic raid hardly seemed the right way to do it. No, Romilly was too smart for that.

  Constantine and Bristol, ever savvy and watchful, could not be counted as the spies. Bristol was coarse and belittled the Kasrkin, but that was just his Tempestus bravado speaking. Constantine, another impossibility, for he despised not just the Marked Men but those who they obeyed. He might have disagreed with von Bracken but he would not commit treason nor ally with those who had crossed him before. Then, that only left one man.

  “Silas?”

  Marsh looked up. Major Haight approached him from the gate, a smile on his face. He waved as he trotted up. “Hello, friend, I apologize for being late, I had many matters to attend to before I was free.”

  Romilly’s intel had led them to the cavern. Nobody had been aware except for him, Marsh, and Gabler. Marsh Silas brought the information they recovered back to the regiment—to his circle of confidants. The prisoner had died in mysterious circumstances, the convoy’s high-value target was missing, and Romilly was the target of an assassination. Marked Men using Imperial equipment, knowing Gabler’s position prior to the Battle of Hill 277, clearing their complexes before the Kasrkin arrived, the ambushes on the road—always aware of Bloody Platoon’s movements. Haight’s constant disagreements with Romilly, his mission intelligence that led Marsh on pointless operations, his caution against pursuing the spies, his lack of results in that very pursuit…

  Marsh Silas’s hand slid to his thigh. Even in his dress uniform, he wore the holster for his Ripper Pistol. His fingers twitched above the grip. Haight tilted his head to the side and smiled. “What’s wrong, friend? Aren’t you coming back?”

  Marsh Silas felt his heart burning. It bubbled and seethed, as though acid were boiling from his stomach and up his throat. Every vein, tendon, and muscle tightened. He had been a blind fool this whole time! Everything he knew, everything he said, had filtered through Haight back to the enemy. How many lives had been lost because of his loose lips? How many facilities were destroyed or damaged, how many vehicles stolen or disabled, how many ambushes had occurred because of his heart!? The spy was right in front of him. Right here, right now, unaware that he had figured out the scheme. It was time to remove at least one of these spies—time to cut him out of his heart.

  ‘Answer their temptations with silence!’ The words on the security poster flashed through his mind. Marsh Silas’s fingers fell from his holster and he cleared his throat.

  “Nay. I am tired and I’ve had my fill of drink and food. It is time for me to retire.”

  “Ah, but the night is young! I had hoped to share at least one warm drink with you.”

  “Another time, friend,” Marsh Silas said, smiling amiably. “Go on, enjoy the party.”

  “I look forward to it. I wanted to hear you speak of the old times with the Inquisitor, Barlocke. Your tone is always so fond of him. It is quite delightful,, I wish to know more.”

  “Of course. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” Haight tapped Marsh on the shoulder. But he turned after taking a few steps towards the banquet hall. “By the way, would you happen to know where Warrant Officer Romilly is? It appears he’s all but vanished and I cannot find him through any of my channels.”

  “I know not, truly. I will tell you if I find anything.” Haight nodded and held up his fist as he continued walking. Marsh nodded, and then ran his hand over his face and quickly touched his micro-bead, still embedded in his ear.

  “Hyam, it’s Silas. Spread the word among my men and Gabler’s; no one is to release any information to Haight. Do not ask, just hurry, and we will speak in the morn.”

  “Roger.” Marsh took off his hat and swept his fingers through his locks. He would have stayed there, removed from the flagstaff, seething all night, if he did not spy Lauraine exiting the hall. She spotted him, waved shyly, and with a small, relieved smile, Marsh returned it.