Secret War: Upon Blood Sands by BAD Agar, Adrassil (amazing books to read TXT) 📕

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.

Adelana was shocked, shocked into silence