'Another dawn, Brother-Chaplain.' Toma took the command throne next to Argo, sitting and holding his helm in his hands. The Deathwatch had aged him, Argo saw. New scars, faded from fast treatment but still noticeable, pitted the warrior's cheek and temple.
'Acid burns,' Argo said, gesturing with a gloved hand, his black one. 'The Deathwatch kept you busy.'
'I can't say,' Toma replied. His face was as expressive as stone.
'Can't or won't?' Argo asked, already knowing the answer.
'Both.'
'The Ordo Xenos keeps its secrets close.'
'It does.' Toma's expression was edged with thought as he replayed hazy recollections, little more than echoes, through his mind. Oaths had been sworn. Promises were made. Memories were torn from the mind by psyk-enhanced meditation and the ungentle scouring of arcane machinery.
клятвы клятвами, а подстраховаться Инквы не стесняются. ;)