THE PRIMARCHS. FIRST LORD OF THE IMPERIUM (2017). Written by L J Goulding. Performed by John Banks, Beth Chalmers, Jenny Funnell, Jonathan Keeble and Toby Longworth.. Scripted by Reverend

List of characters:

· Malcador the Sigillite – First Lord of the Imperium;

· Sibel Niasta  –  Malcador’s personal astropath;

· Allum – Malcador’s personal assistant

(Malcador walking around the Imperial Palace, berthing heavily)

The hour was late when Malcador finally came to the narrow stone staircase leading to the residentia in the highest reaches above the Katmandau precinct[1]. His weary[2] sandaled feet took each step with a care that could only ever be born of too many remembered falls over the years. And he relied heavily upon his staff to keep his balance as he climbed.  

(Malcador coughing)

It had been dark when he left his private apartments several hours before dawn and it was dark again now that he felt enough had been achieved that he might return to them. His duties had stolen the day from him, just as they had the day before and the day before that. As far back as anyone else in the Palace could remember every waking moment lost to the innumerable concerns of war and governance.

(Malcador breathing heavily, but continuing his tired tread)

There were conveyers and elevators that could shorten his route and allow him to rest his aching bones a little longer before he would need to rise once more. Doubtless the watch commanders of the Helio Psykon would even approve a chartered ornithopter flight anywhere within the inner or outer wards[3] whenever the Imperial regent required it.

(Malcador coughing)

But always he made the journey on foot and alone. It was a ritual of sorts and the Sigillite knew better than most that rituals were important.

He reached an intermediate landing and paused to catch his breath. The psy flame at the head of his staff flickered on, cold and silent, casting more light than the pale lumen sconces[4] set into the archway ahead. Malcador did not turn at the sound other footsteps echoing up after him, but allowed himself a tired smile.

Malcador (regaining his breath): “You would keep an old man from his glass of wine and a warm bed, Allum? I feel I have earned both today”.

(Allum approaching Malcador in a fast tread)

The adept was lean[5], studious[6] and always immaculate[7] in the grey robes of the chosen. Though he usually carried himself with all the decorum[8] expected of his rank it was clear this night that something else drove him on. He reached the landing and knelt before his master bowing his head. His voice was hoarse[9], his eyes raw.   

Allum: “My lord regent, you should come”.

An unexpected chill prickled at Malcador’s skin and the smile melted away. It seemed that the shadows beyond the light of his staff grew slightly darker in that moment and he drew the cowl[10] of his hood tighter.

Malcador (gasping): “It will be soon then… I had hoped for a little more time”.

Allum: “The physicians say… They say there is nothing more they can do… She… She was asking after you again”.

All mortal weariness[11] forgotten Malcador lowered himself down, his simple trains[12] of office trailing[13] gently on the flagstones[14]. He put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

Malcador (moaning): “Let us go swiftly then. I would be at her side when the end comes”.

* * *

The chambers of magister Sibel Niasta were far-far from the towers of the city of sight, both literally and by many more subtle[15] definitions. Malcador hesitated for just a moment at the oak-paneled door running his fingertips over the grained surface of the wood, feeling the unmistakable frisson[16] of psy-dampening[17] crystal circuitry hidden beneath it. He steeled[18] himself and pushed the door open.

(door opening with a low buzz)

The lights had been turned down low. Beside the bed a sister Hospitaller with a kind earnest[19] face looked up at Malcador and Allum as they entered. She bowed deeply and gestured for her apprentice to do the same.

Sister Hospitaller: “My lord, I have followed the instructions of the honorable Sheragean general. The lady magister is as comfortable as we can make her”.

Sibel Niasta (tossing under the blanket to see the visitors): “I am right here. I can hear you. I am blind, not deaf”.

Malcador laughed slipping off his sandals and stepping onto the threadbare[20] carpets that surrounded the bed.

Malcador (smiling): “Grumpy[21] as ever, Sibel. I hope you have been putting these young upstarts[22] through their paces[23]. Otherwise they will never learn a thing, eh? ”

The merest hint of a smile flickered across the deep lines of Niasta’s face pulling at the corners of her sunken sightless eyes.

Sibel Niasta (smiling): “Too bloody right”.

She jerked a thumb towards the Medicae’s servitor stationed at the other side of the bed.

Sibel Niasta: “Take that… awful machine with you. All I can hear every night are his clockwork scrods ticking away like a broken chrono. He wants oiling. Take the money from my purse if you need to”.

The sister Hospitaller and her apprentice left as quietly and respectfully as they could with the servitor a few steps behind them.

(door closing behind the sister Hospitaller and her apprentice)

Malcador watched them go, leaning thoughtfully on his staff.

Malcador: “That’s how they’ll remember you, now you realize. And to think, you used to be so polite and diplomatic”.

Niasta let her empty gaze fall from the upper reaches of the chamber to where the Sigillite stood. Her irises[24] were permanently bloodshot[25] and ragged with slashes of sickly yellow around uneven pupils misted by cataracts.

Sibel Niasta: “With the greatest respect, master, when I join the ranks of the recently deceased, I plan on paying very little heed to the expectations and gossip of the living”.

Her eyes flickered to the shadows by the door.

Sibel Niasta (sighing): “And you, Allum Carpin, stop skulking[26] around back there. You can bloody well leave too if you are just going to mope[27] in the corner. I am not having my final moments ruined by you sniveling[28]. Go and finish your writing and give me some peace and quiet”.

The adept shuffled[29] into the light bringing his hands together.

Allum: “Lady magister, I… I wanted to…”

Sibel Niasta (gasping): “Oh, my lord Sigillite. Please take one of these pillows and throw it at him. I can see his modeling so light clear enough, but still I think your aim will be better than mine”.

Malcador trudged[30] to Allum’s side.

Malcador: “You can go. We should give her the dignity of being able to choose the company she keeps. There is nothing you can say to her that she does not already know and it clearly means a great deal to her that you have remained close by for so many months, when I could not”.

Allum: “You are sure, my lord? ”

The Sigillite smiled ushering[31] him to the door.

Malcador: “I am sure. Go! As she says you should return to your great work. I am very much looking forward to reading it, when it is done”.

(door opening with a low buzz)

Pausing at the threshold for one last glance towards the dying magister Allum pulled his robes tightly about himself and went out into the night’s chill once more. All was silent in that chamber for a long while. In the distance far away to the north and still within the bounds of the Imperial Palace the pealing[32] of the Great Bell of Lost Souls could be heard, just as it always could in these dark times.

Making his way to the foot of Niasta’s bed Malcador pulled back his hood and let his silver hair fall freely. He straightened a little and peered down his hawk-like nose at her.

Malcador: “They are all gone. We are alone”.

The astropath grimaced. She sank into the blankets letting out a thin gasp as she let all pretense[33] slide away. Her angular proud features were wizened[34] by pain.

Sibel Niasta (trembling voice): “I am sorry, my master. I am so very sorry. I could not let them see me like this, but I did not mean for them to bring you here, to distract you from… from… (sighing)… My lord, master, please forgive me”.

Malcador remained unmoving and apparently unmoved. He scrutinized[35] every minute[36] detail of her face.

Malcador: “Why is it you think I am here, Sibel? ”

Tears ran from the astropath’s ruined eyes.

Sibel Niasta (almostweeping): “Because… Because in serving you, I have been your voice and your ear in the outer darkness. No other knows so much about what you have done and the hidden truths you hold in trust for the good of mankind. The messages I have relayed for you, the many secrets I have kept, that I still keep, could bring the Imperium to its knees, just at the moment when a little ignorance would go along way”.

She paused for a moment as if considering whether or not to take the thought to its logical conclusion.

Sibel Niasta: “Because… I know the things that lurk[37] in the span of a mortal’s final breath. The things, that our noble Emperor assured us for so long were not real. That hunger for our very souls and so… I imagine you are here now to make sure… (sighing) to make sure that when my life flashes before me, no one and nothing else can steal a glimpse”.

The Sigillite nodded slowly, then moved over to the empty desk in the corner of the room, its green marble top inlaid within the icon of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica in pearlescent[38] coral[39]. He hold up his staff peering at the twin-headed eagle that basketed[40] the psy-flame with its iron wings.

Malcador (taking a deep breath): “I think, perhaps, you have misjudged me. Many have over the years”.

He raised an open hand to the cold fire and closed his fingers in a deliberate measured gesture. With a psychic pulse like a skipped heartbeat the flames were snuffed out[41] and Niasta flinched[42] at the force of it. Then Malcador laid the inert staff carefully on the desk, pulled out the wooden chair beneath it and dragged it over to her bedside.

Malcador: “For now I would put aside my duties and the war, even the title of Sigillite”.

He seated himself and took her hand. Her grip was weak and her skin felt almost as thin as parchment[43].

Malcador: “For now we shall merely be two old friends speaking plainly[44] and fondly, as old friends do when no one else is around to hear. Beyond that there is nothing in all the galaxy that need concern us”.

* * *

Sibel Niasta: “I don’t believe you”.

Malcador: “You don’t believe me? ”

Sibel Niasta: “No, my lord. You just called me old”.

(Malcador laughing)

Sibel Niasta: “A bit much isn’t it? I mean especially coming from you”.

Malcador (smiling): “Apologies, apologies. Sometimes the gothic tongue can be somewhat inelegant”.

Sibel Niasta: “No, no excuses. I don’t think we can be friends now. That’s a pity, a real pity”.

(Astropath coughing, then clearing her throat)

Sibel Niasta: “My lord… Malcador… How old are you? I mean to say I have been in your service for centuries, since you became first lord and you have not aged a day in all that time. Even when my sight was failing for good I could tell”

Malcador: “Well, you are cutting straight to the point now, eh? ”

Sibel Niasta (gasping): “Time is not on my side. I am not going to waste it being polite”.

Malcador (making himself comfortable on the chair): “Very well then. I am 6718 years 241 days 11 hours 8 minutes and 56 seconds old and there are days when I feel it”.

Sibel Niasta: “That is not what I was expecting to hear. So what’s your secret? And don’t tell me its juvenate treatments and clean living, because I tried those”.

Malcador: “Ah, a secret of mine that you don’t know. Many wise and powerful men have wondered the same thing down the years. Even the noble Primarchs themselves whispered their theories when they thought I wasn’t listening. It is not enough it seems that I act with the authority of the Emperor of mankind in all things and stand at his side and counsel him openly. All wish to know whence comes such power, such privilege and if it be something they might take for themselves. And yet very few of them ever dared to ask me directly. For that if nothing else you deserve the truth”.

Sibel Niasta: “It is the Emperor then? He chose you as his companion and confident. And from that moment you were blessed with… immortality. Even his sons cannot refute[45] this”.

Malcador: “No, you have it backwards, Sibel Niasta. I am the last of my order, the last Sigillite and he was not the Emperor until he met me”.

Sibel Niasta: “I… I… don’t understand”.

Malcador: “For the longest time he was only the greatest of many warlords of Old Earth. They knew him… Well, they knew him by a different name. And as for his sons… Consider this Aquila charm on your wrist. I gifted it to you when we first left the Throne world together, but what does it mean? ”

Sibel Niasta: “It is the manifest glory of the Imperium”.

Malcador: “What else? ”

Sibel Niasta: “It is… the union of Mars and Terra for the good of all”.

Malcador: “What else? ”

Sibel Niasta: “The eagle blind to the horrors of the past and looking instead to the future? ”

Malcador: “Ah, and there you have it. And may such a dichotomy[46] never be reversed while the Imperium yet endures. But this is not mere symbolism and as you know, blindness is not always a lack of sight. The Emperor does not dwell upon the past. His attentions are ever focused on his vision for mankind’s destiny and so he does not always remember the lessons that the rest of us have learned along the way. But the Sigillite order was created to remember, to preserve after a fashion. Without me the Unification of Terra would have been impossible. The Emperor has told me as much”.

Sibel Niasta: “I can not imagine you on the battlefield”.

Malcador: “Oh, I fought at his side many times, my dear. But humanity’s future is built upon the foundations of its past, not unlike a palace on the mountain top if you will. My contribution to Unity was in showing him why every other palace, mountain and empire has fallen. And so it will be again. I will serve him in the way I was always meant to - reminding him of all that has gone before - for as long as he needs me to.

(Sibel Niasta sighing deeply)

Malcador: “But I sense a different kind of sadness in you, Sibel. You are not afraid to die”.

Sibel Niasta: “I am not”.

Malcador: “Speak then. I am here to listen”.

Sibel Niasta: “I am afraid that things have progressed too far. I am afraid that for all the Emperor’s vision and your wise counsel the war has taken too many unexpected turns. And everything we have done, will be for nothing”.

Malcador (sighing): “It pains me to hear you say that, truly. That we, he and I, the Imperium might fail”.

Sibel Niasta: “Do you not hear the Great Bell tolling ceaselessly day and night? Each chime – a lost soul, another servant of the Imperium fallen. The last I saw casualty manifests per deaths at Beta Garmon alone in the billions. Billions… in a matter of months. (almost weeping) This is not a war that mortals can win and that scares me more than anything. We can only let the Primarchs murder each other one by one and see what remains of the galaxy, when… (coughing)”

Malcador: “Lean forward! Lean forward, my dear! Try… Try to breathe. Here, take a sip. Take a sip”.

(Sibel taking a drink)

Sibel Niasta (trying to regain her breath, whispering): “I am so tired, Mal…”

Malcador: “Rest, Sibel, lie back. Would it comfort you if I were to say… The Primarchs all of them are but a means to an end”.

Sibel Niasta (breathing hard): “I… I do not understand… Forgive me”.

Malcador: “The Imperium is not for the post-humans, but for mankind. You know this. You helped me to manage them, to direct their efforts. The Legions and their sires are conqueror’s tools and nothing more”.

Sibel Niasta: “You mean the Thunder Warriors…”

Malcador: “Like them. Burning brightly, but briefly. But the Emperor and I could not conduct the Great Crusade with gene-enhanced mortals. We needed something greater, something stronger to reclaim the stars. And in order to control it we needed a lifespan for the Legiones Astartes that had nothing to do with aging or timed infirmity[47]. Believe me, when I say it, Sibel Niasta, this was always intended to be the final act of the crusade. We wanted the Primarchs to turn against one another, against their father.

(Sibel Niasta tossing in her bed, unable to believe)

Malcador: “Be assured, we maneuvered each of them from the moment of their rediscovery, pitting[48] them against one another, stoking[49] their brotherly rivalries with his unequal favor. It was not difficult, no more so than positioning pieces on a Cheops board. Those who could not be managed well… They would never reach the end game”.

(Sibel Niasta starting to weep)

Malcador: “Oh, do not weep, my dear. You fear that the Emperor cannot control his sons and yet I tell you that this war is the method of that control. The Primarchs have no more free will, than we gave them”.

Sibel Niasta (weeping): “Can it be true? ”

Malcador: “My failure was in underestimating the true enemy. The Ruinous Powers have emboldened[50] their champions among the eighteen and the war began before we were ready. And so every toll of that bell gives me pause to question: was this death one we intended or yet another innocent soul I might have saved? That is my burden to bear and I do so, so that the Emperor may concentrate on the final battle to come”.

Sibel Niasta: “Will he win? ”

Malcador: “The future is not my area of expertise. I trust in his vision, as we all must”.

(Sibel Niasta weeping in her bed)

Malcador: “I am here, Sibel. I am here. You must sleep. I won’t let go. Let yourself fall. Let yourself fall and he will catch you. This I swear. Give yourself to him”.

(silence)

* * *

(singing birds)

The dawn came. The first paling of the eastward horizon over Gangian had a peculiar golden quality to it. Even through the grimy[51] haze[52] above the sprawling[53] refugee camps and the polychromatic shimmer[54] of the Palace’s active void shields Malcador remained at Niasta’s bedside watching as the sun climbed over the horizon bathing the old Himalasia in its serene light. He could remember every detail of every sunrise he had ever seen and there were many. And yet he could not recall another that held both the perfect beauty and sadness of this one. He still held her cold hand and he looked down at the tiny golden charm that lay beside it. The Imperial eagle’s sighted eye was a single emerald, no larger than a pinhead.

Malcador (angrily): “You promised… You promised me… it wouldn’t be like this. I lie to them to spare their sorrow. Even as I am with immortality (suppressing tears) it breaks my heart… It breaks my heart…”

Swallowing his grief, his loneliness Malcador gently laid the astropath’s hands upon her chest in the sign of the Aquila with the charm neatly placed on top. Then he rose from the chair and looked upon her one last time.

Malcador: “Goodbye, old friend”.

Slowly he drew up his hood and raised one open hand to the shadows. His staff flew through the air into his waiting grip. With a dazzling[55] flare the psy-flames sprang into life at its head once more. He was Malcador. He was the Sigillite. He was first lord of the Imperium and he knew with all certainty that the end was coming.

[1] район (в городе)

[2] усталый, изнурённый, утомлённый

[3] административный район города

[4] канделябр; бра, подсвечник, уличный фонарь

[5] тощий, худой

[6] прилежный, старательный, трудолюбивый, усердный

[7] безукоризненно чистый, опрятный

[8] декорум, внешнее приличие; правила поведения; приличия; этикет

[9] охрипший, хриплый, сиплый

[10] монашеская сутана с капюшоном; широкий капюшон

[11] усталость, истощение

[12] шлейф (платья), длинный хвост (птицы)хвост (кометы)

[13] стелиться, свисать (о волосах, деталях одежды)

[14] плита (напр. бетонная); плитняк (природный камень)

[15] неуловимый, тонкий; едва различимый, острый, проницательный;

[16] (нервная) дрожь, трепет; содрогание

[17] расхолаживать, умерять, охлаждать (пыл), угнетать, подавлять, увлажнять, намачивать,

[18] закалять (сталь)ожесточать; придавать силу, решимость

[19] серьёзный; основательный, нелегкомысленный, искренний; убеждённый; горячий, ревностный

[20] изношенный, обветшалый, потёртый, старый

[21] несдержанный, раздражительный; сварливый, сердитый

[22] выскочка

[23] проэкзаменовать, испытывать, проявить себя на деле, погонять

[24] радужная оболочка (глаза)

[25] налитый кровью (о глазах)

[26] прятаться, скрываться, затаиваться

[27] хандрить; быть в подавленном состоянии, быть ко всему безучастным

[28] распускать сопли, высморкать нос, хныкать; шмыгать носом

[29] волочить ноги; шаркать; скользить ногами по полуёрзать

[30] уходить, отправляться, идти с трудом, устало тащиться, продираться сквозь что-л., с трудом преодолевать что-л.

[31] провожать, сопровождать; вводить; усаживать, показывать места

[32] звон колоколов; трезвон; перезвон колоколов, подбор колоколов

[33] притворство; обман

[34] сохнуть, высыхать; сморщиваться; вянуть (о растениях), высыхать, усыхать; покрываться морщинами (о человеке)

[35] внимательно всматриваться, пристально разглядывать

[36] мелкий, мельчайший, бесконечно малый, пустяковый, несущественный, незначительный; мелкий

[37] красться, подкрадываться, скрываться в засаде; прятаться; оставаться незамеченным;

[38] жемчужный, перламутровый

[39] цвета коралла, коралловый, светло-красный, коралловый, коралл

[40] оплетать проволокой

[41] тушить (свечу)снимать нагар (со свечи), резко пресекать, прерывать

[42] вздрагивать (от боли, испуга); передёрнуться (от отвращения)

[43] Пергамент, пергаментная бумага

[44] откровенно, прямо, открыто

[45] опровергать, доказывать ложность, несостоятельность

[46] дихотомия (последовательное деление целого на две части)

[47] болезненность, слабость, дряхлость, немощь, непрочность, шаткость

[48] стравливать (петухов, собак во время боёв); выставлять (животных на ринг)

[49] поддерживать огонь (в топке); забрасывать топливо; топить

[50] поощрять, содействовать, стимулировать, подбодрять, давать смелость, вселять мужество

[51] запачканный, покрытый сажей, углем; чумазый; грязный, смуглый

[52] лёгкий туман, иней, изморозь(атмосферная) дымка

[53] расползающийся; развалившийся, растянувшийся; ползучий

[54] мерцание; мерцающий свет, приглушённый свет

[55] ослепительный; блестящий