‘Strength of will, Tarvitz,’ said Eidolon. ‘That’s what it was, strength of will. The bitch’s damn magic was no match for a pair of warriors like us, eh?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Tarvitz, accepting a hand up from Eidolon. The dome was suddenly, eerily silent. The Isstvanians who still lived were slumped where they had fallen at the Warsinger’s death, weeping and rocking back and forth like children at the loss of a parent.
‘I don’t understand—’ he began as warriors of the Death Guard started securing the dome.
‘You don’t need to understand, Tarvitz,’ said Eidolon. ‘We won, that’s what matters.’
‘But what you did—’
‘What I did was kill our enemies,’ snapped Eidolon. ‘Understood?’
‘Understood,’ nodded Tarvitz, although he no more understood Eidolon’s newfound ability than he did the celestial mechanics of traveling through the warp.
Eidolon said, ‘Kill any remaining enemy troops. Then destroy this place,’ before turning and making his way down the shattered pyramid to the cheers of his warriors.
Tarvitz retrieved his fallen weapons and watched the aftermath of victory unfolding below him. The Astartes were regrouping and he made his way back down to where he had left the wounded Garro.
The captain of the Death Guard was sitting propped up against the side of the pyramid, his chest heaving with the effort of breathing and Tarvitz could see it had taken a supreme effort of will not to let the pain balms of his armour render him unconscious.
‘Tarvitz, you’re alive,’ said Garro as he climbed down the last step.
‘Just about,’ he said. ‘More than can be said for you.’
‘This?’ sneered Garro. ‘I’ve had worse than this. You mark my words, lad, I’ll be up and teaching you a few new tricks in the training cages again before you know it.’
Despite the strangeness of the battle and the lives that had been lost, Tarvitz smiled.
‘It is good to see you again, Nathaniel,’ said Tarvitz, leaning down and taking Garro’s proffered hand. ‘It has been too long since we fought together.’
‘It has that, my honour brother,’ nodded Garro, ‘but I have a feeling we will have plenty of opportunities to fight as one before this campaign is over.’
‘Not if you keep letting yourself get injured like this. You need an apothecary.’
‘Nonsense, boy, there’s plenty worse than me that need a sawbones first.’
‘You never did learn to accept that you’d been hurt did you?’ smiled Tarvitz.
‘No,’ agreed Garro. ‘It’s not the Death Guard way, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Tarvitz, waving over an Emperor’s Children apothecary despite Garro’s protests. ‘You’re too barbarous a Legion for me to ever understand.’
‘And you’re a bunch of pretty boys, more concerned with looking good than getting the job done,’ said Garro, rounding off the traditional insults that passed for greetings between them. Both warriors had been through too much in their long friendship and saved each other’s lives too many times to allow formality and petty differences between their Legions to matter.
Garro jerked his thumb in the direction of the summit. ‘You killed her?’
‘No,’ said Tarvitz. ‘Lord Commander Eidolon did.’
‘Eidolon, eh?’ mused Garro. ‘Never did have much time for him. Still, if he managed to bring her down, he’s obviously learned a thing or two since I last met him.’
‘I think you might be right,’ said Tarvitz.
SIX
The soul of the Legion
Everything will be different
Abomination
L
OKEN FOUND
A
BADDON
in the observation dome that blistered from the hull of the upper decks of the
Vengeful Spirit
, the transparent glass looking out onto the barren wasteland of Isstvan Extremis. The dome was quiet and dark, a perfect place for reflection and calm, and Abaddon looked out of place, his power and energy like that of a caged beast poised to attack.
‘Loken,’ said Abaddon as he walked into the chamber. ‘
You
summoned
me
here?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’ demanded Abaddon.
‘Loyalty,’ said Loken simply.
Abaddon snorted. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. You have never had it tested.’
‘Like you did on Davin?’
‘Ah,’ sighed Abaddon, ‘so that is what this is about. Don’t think to lecture me, Loken. You couldn’t have taken the steps we did to save the Warmaster.’
‘Maybe I’m the only one who took a stand.’
‘Against what? You would have allowed the Warmaster to die rather than accept that there might be something in this universe you don’t understand?’
‘I am not here to debate what happened on Davin,’ said Loken, already feeling that he had lost control of the conversation.
‘Then why are you here? I have warriors to make ready, and I won’t waste time with you on idle words.’
‘I called you here because I need answers. About this,’ said Loken, casting the book he had taken from the fane behind the strategium onto the mosaic floor of the observation dome.
Abaddon stooped to retrieve the book. In the hands of the first captain, it looked tiny, like one of Ignace Karkasy’s pamphlets.
‘So you’re a thief now,’ said Abaddon.
‘Do not dare speak to me of such things, Ezekyle, not until you have given me answers. I know that Erebus conspired against us. He stole the anathame from the interex and brought it to Davin. I know it and you know it.’
‘You know nothing, Loken,’ sneered Abaddon. ‘What happens in this Crusade happens for the good of the Imperium. The Warmaster has a plan.’
‘A plan?’ said Loken. ‘And this plan requires the murder of innocent people? Hektor Varvarus? Ignace Karkasy? Petronella Vivar?’
‘The remembrancers?’ laughed Abaddon. ‘You really care about those people? They are lesser people, Loken, beneath us. The Council of Terra wants to drown us in these petty bureaucrats to stifle us and strangle our ambitions to conquer the galaxy.’
‘Erebus,’ said Loken, trying to keep his anger in check, ‘why was he on the
Vengeful Spirit
?’
Abaddon crossed the width of the observation dome in a second. ‘None of your damn business.’
‘This is my Legion!’ shouted Loken. ‘That makes it my damn business.’
‘Not any more.’
Loken felt his choler rise and clenched his hands into murderous fists.
Abaddon saw the tension in him and said, ‘Thinking of settling this like a warrior?’
‘No, Ezekyle,’ said Loken through clenched teeth. ‘Despite all that has happened, you are still my Mournival brother and I will not fight you.’
‘The Mournival,’ nodded Abaddon. ‘A noble idea while it lasted, but I regret ever bringing you in. In any case, if it came down to bloodshed do you really think you could beat me?’
Loken ignored the taunt and said, ‘Is Erebus still here?’
‘Erebus is a guest on the Warmaster’s flagship,’ said Abaddon. ‘You would do well to remember that. If you had joined us when you had the chance instead of turning your back on us, you would have all your answers, but that’s the choice you made, Loken. Live with it.’
‘The lodge has brought something evil into our Legion, Ezekyle, maybe the other Legions too, something from the warp. It’s what killed Jubal and it’s what took Temba on Davin. Erebus is lying to all of us!’
‘And we’re being used, is that right? Erebus is manipulating us all towards a fate worse than death?’ spat Abaddon. ‘You know so little. If you understood the scale of the Warmaster’s designs then you would beg us to take you back.’
‘Then tell me, Ezekyle, and maybe I’ll beg. We were brothers once and we can be again.’
‘Do you really believe that, Loken? You’ve made it plain enough that you’re against us. Torgaddon said as much.’
‘For my Legion, for my Warmaster, there is always a way back,’ replied Loken, ‘as long as you feel the same.’
‘But you’ll never surrender, eh?’
‘Never! Not when the soul of my Legion is at stake.’
Abaddon shook his head. ‘We tie ourselves in such knots because men like you are too proud to make compromises.’
‘Compromise will be the death of us, Ezekyle.’
‘Forget this until after Isstvan, Loken,’ ordered Abaddon. ‘After Isstvan, this will end.’
‘I will not forget it, Ezekyle. I will have my answers,’ snarled Loken, turning and walking away from his brother.
‘If you fight us, you’ll lose,’ promised Abaddon.
‘Maybe,’ replied Loken, ‘but others will stand against you.’
‘Then they will die too.’
‘T
HANK YOU ALL
for coming,’ said Sindermann, overwhelmed and a little afraid at the number of people gathered before him. ‘I appreciate that you have all taken a great risk to be here, but this is too much.’
Crammed into a dark maintenance space, filthy with grease and hemmed in by low hissing pipe work, the faithful had come from all over the ship to hear the saint’s words, mistakenly believing that she was awake. Amongst the crowd, Sindermann saw the uniforms of Titan crewmen, fleet maintenance workers, medical staff, security personnel, and even a few Imperial Army troopers. Men with guns guarded the entrances to the maintenance space and their presence served as a stark reminder of the danger they were in just by being here.
Such a large gathering was dangerous, too easily noticed, and Sindermann knew that he had to disperse them quickly before they were discovered, and do it in such a way as not to incite a riot.
‘You have escaped notice thus far thanks to the size of your gatherings, but so many cannot avoid notice for long,’ continued Sindermann. ‘You will no doubt have heard many strange and wonderful things recently, and I hope you will forgive me for putting you in harm’s way.’
The news of Keeler’s rescue had spread quickly through the ship. It had been whispered among the grime-covered ratings, it had been communicated through the remembrancer order with the rapidity of an epidemic and it had reached the ears of even the lowliest member of the expedition. Embellishments and wild rumour followed in the wake of the news and tales abounded of the saint and her miraculous powers, incredible stories of bullets turned aside and of visions of the Emperor speaking directly to her in order to show His people the way.
‘What of the saint?’ asked a voice from the crowd. ‘We want to see her!’
Sindermann held up a hand and said, ‘The saint is fortunate to be alive. She is well, but she still sleeps. Some of you have heard that she is awake, and that she has spoken, but regrettably this is not the case.’
A disappointed buzz spread throughout the crowd, angry at Sindermann’s denial of what many of them desperately wanted to believe. Sindermann was reminded of the speeches he had given on newly-compliant worlds, where he had used his iterator’s wiles to extol the virtues of the Imperial Truth.
Now he had to use those same skills to give these people hope.
‘The saint still sleeps, it’s true, but for one brief, shining moment she arose from her slumbers to save my life. I saw her eyes open and I know that when we need her, she will come back to us. Until then we must walk warily, for there are those in the fleet who would destroy us for our beliefs. The very fact that we must meet in secret and rely on armed guards to keep us safe is a reminder that Maloghurst himself regularly sends troops to break up the meetings of the Lectitio Divinitatus. People have been killed and their blood is on the hands of the Astartes. Ignace Karkasy, Emperor rest his soul, knew the dangers of an unchecked Astartes before any of us realised their hands were around our throats.
‘Once, I could not believe in such things as saints. I had trained myself to accept only logic and science, and to cast aside religion as superstition. Magic and miracles were impossible, simply the invention of ignorant people struggling to understand their world. It took the sacrifice of the saint to show me how arrogant I was. I saw how the Emperor protects, but she has shown me that there is so much more than that, for, if the Emperor protects His faithful, who protects the Emperor?’ Sindermann let the question hang.
‘We must,’ said Titus Cassar, pushing his way towards the front of the crowd and turning to address them. Sindermann had placed Cassar in the crowd with specific instructions on when to speak – a basic ploy of the iterators to reinforce their message.
‘We must protect the Emperor, for there is no one else,’ said Cassar. The moderati looked back at Sindermann. ‘But we must stay alive in order to do so. Is that not right, iterator?’
‘Yes,’ said Sindermann. ‘The faith that this congregation has displayed has caused such fear in the higher echelons of the fleet that they are trying to destroy us. The Emperor has an enemy here; of that I am sure. We must survive and we must stand against that enemy when it finally reveals itself.’
Worried and angry murmurings spread through the crowd as the deadly nature of the threat sank in. ‘Faithful friends,’ said Sindermann, ‘the dangers we face are great, but the saint is with us and she needs shelter. Shelter we can best achieve alone, but watch for the signs and be safe. Spread the word of her safety.’
Cassar moved through the congregation, instructing them to return to their posts. Reassured by Sindermann’s words, they gradually began to disperse. As he watched them go, Sindermann wondered how many of them would live through the coming days.
T
HE
G
ALLERY OF
Swords ran the length of the
Andronius
like the ship’s gilded spine. Its roof was transparent and the space beneath was lit by the fire of distant stars. Hundreds of statues lined the gallery, heroes of the Emperor’s Children with gemstone eyes and stern expressions of judgement. The worth of a hero was said to be measured by how long he could meet their gaze while walking the length of the Gallery of Swords beneath their unforgiving eyes.
Tarvitz held his head high as he entered the gallery, though he knew he was no hero, simply a warrior who did his best. Chapter Masters and commanders from long ago glared at him, their names and noble countenances known and revered by every warrior of the Emperor’s Children. Entire wings of the
Andronius
were given over to the fallen battle-brothers of the Legion, but it was here that every warrior hoped to be remembered.