Ehrlen turned towards Tarvitz.
‘This isn’t your fight,’ he yelled over the gunfire. ‘Get out of here!’
‘Emperor’s Children never run!’ replied Tarvitz, drawing his sword.
‘They do from this!’
No Space Marine could have survived the storm of fire that blazed away at the interior of the gunship, but it was no ordinary Space Marine that was borne within it.
With a roar like a hunting animal, Angron leapt from the gunship and landed with a terrible crash in the midst of the ruined city.
He was a monster of legend, huge and terrible. The primarch’s hideous face was twisted in hatred, his huge chainaxes battered and stained with decades of bloodshed. As the mighty primarch landed, World Eaters dropped from the other gunships.
Thousands of World Eaters loyal to the Warmaster followed their primarch into the Choral City, accompanied by the war cries that echoed Angron’s own bestial howl as he charged into his former brethren.
H
ORUS PUT HIS
fist through the pict-screen that showed the transmission from the
Dies Irae
. The image of the World Eaters’ gunships splintered under the assault as his anger at Angron’s defiance boiled over. One of his allies – no, one of his subordinates – had disobeyed his direct order.
Aximand, Abaddon, Erebus and Maloghurst eyed him warily and Horus could imagine their trepidation at the news of Angron’s impetuous attack on the survivors of the virus bombing.
That there were survivors at all was galling, but Angron’s actions put a whole new spin on the Isstvan campaign.
‘And yet,’ he said, choking back his rage, ‘I am surprised at this.’
‘Warmaster,’ said Aximand, ‘what do you—’
‘Angron is a killer!’ snapped Horus, rounding on his Mournival son. ‘He solves every problem with raw violence. He attacks first and thinks later, if he thinks at all. And yet I never saw this! What else would he do when he saw the survivors of his Legion in the Choral City? Would he sit back and watch the rest of the fleet bombard them from orbit? Never! And yet I did nothing!’
Horus glanced at the smashed remains of the pict-display. ‘I will never be caught out like this again. There will be no twists of fate I do not see coming.’
‘The questions remains,’ said Aximand. ‘What shall we do about Angron?’
‘Destroy him with the rest of the city,’ said Abaddon without a pause. ‘If he cannot be trusted to obey his Warmaster then he is a liability.’
‘The World Eaters are an exceptionally effective weapon of terror,’ retorted Aximand. ‘Why destroy them when they can wreak so much havoc among those loyal to the Emperor?’
‘There are always more soldiers,’ said Abaddon. ‘Many will beg to join the Warmaster. There is no room for those who can’t follow orders.’
‘Angron is a killer, yes, but he is predictable,’ put in Erebus, and Horus bristled at the implicit insult in the first chaplain’s words. ‘He can be kept obedient by letting him off the leash every now and again.’
‘The Word Bearers may live by treachery and lies,’ snarled Abaddon, ‘but in the Sons of Horus you are loyal or you are dead!’
‘What do you know of my Legion?’ asked Erebus, rising to meet the first captain’s ire, his mask of smirking calm slipping. ‘I know secrets that would destroy your mind! How dare you speak to me of deceit? This, this reality, all you know, this is the lie!’
‘Erebus!’ roared Horus, ending the confrontation instantly. ‘This is not the place to evangelize your Legion. I have made my decision and these are wasted words.’
‘Then Angron will be destroyed in the bombardment?’ asked Maloghurst. ‘No,’ replied Horus. ‘He will not.’
‘But Warmaster, even if Angron prevails he could be down there for weeks,’ said Aximand.
‘And he will not fight alone. Do you know, my sons, why the Emperor appointed me Warmaster?’
‘Because you were his favored son,’ replied Maloghurst. ‘You are the greatest warrior and tactician of the Great Crusade. Whole worlds have fallen at the mention of your name.’
‘I did not ask for flattery,’ snarled Horus.
‘Because you never lose,’ said Abaddon levelly.
‘I never lose,’ nodded Horus, glaring between the four Astartes, ‘because I see only victory. I have never seen a situation that cannot be turned into triumph, no disadvantage that cannot be turned to an advantage.
That
is why I was made Warmaster. On Davin I fell, yet came through that ordeal stronger. Against the Auretian Technocracy we faced dissent from within our own fleet, so I used the conflict to rid us of those fomenting rebellion. There is no failing I cannot turn to a component in my victories. Angron has decided to turn Isstvan III into a ground assault – I can consider this a failure and limit its impact by bombing Angron and his World Eaters into dust along with the rest of the planet, or I can forge a triumph from it that will send echoes far into the future.’
Maloghurst broke the silence that followed. ‘What would you have us do, Warmaster?’
‘Inform the other Legions that they are to prepare for a full assault on the loyalists in the Choral City. Ezekyle, assemble the Legion. Have them ready to launch the attack in two hours.’
‘I shall be proud to lead my Legion,’ said Abaddon.
‘You will not lead them. That honour will go to Sedirae and Targost.’
Anger flared in Abaddon. ‘But I am the first captain. This battle, where resolve and brutality are qualities required for victory, is tailor-made for me!’
‘You are a captain of the Mournival, Ezekyle,’ said Horus. ‘I have another role in mind for you and Little Horus in this fight. One I feel sure you will relish.’
‘Yes, Warmaster,’ said Abaddon, the frustration disappearing from his face.
‘As for you, Erebus…’
‘Warmaster?’
‘Stay out of our way. To your duties, Sons of Horus.’
THIRTEEN
Maggard
Factions
Luna Wolves
P
RINCEPS
T
URNET LISTENED
intently as the orders came through, though Cassar couldn’t hear the orders piped into the princeps’s ear and he didn’t want to – it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. Every time he let his mind wander outside the systems of the
Dies Irae
, he saw nothing but the tangles of charred ruins. His consciousness retreated within the machine, pulling his perception back into the massive form of the Titan.
The
Dies Irae
was coming back to life around him; he could sense the god-machine’s limbs flood with power and could feel the weapons reloading. The plasma reactor at its heart was beating in time with his own, a ball of nuclear flame that burned with the Emperor’s own righteous strength.
Even here, among all this death and horror, the Emperor was with him. The god-machine was the instrument of His will, standing firm among the destruction. That thought comforted Cassar and helped him focus. If the Emperor was here, then the Emperor would protect.
‘Orders in from the
Vengeful Spirit
,’ said Turnet briskly. ‘Moderati, open fire.’
‘Open fire?’ said Aruken. ‘Sir? The Isstvanians are gone. They’re dead.’
To Cassar, Aruken’s voice sounded distant, for he was subsumed in the systems of the Titan, but he heard Turnet’s voice as clearly as if he had spoken in his own ear.
‘Not at the Isstvanians,’ replied Turnet, ‘at the Death Guard.’
‘Princeps?’ said Aruken. ‘Fire on the Death Guard?’
‘I am not in the habit of repeating my orders, moderati,’ replied Turnet, ‘and they are to fire on the Death Guard. They have defied the Warmaster.’
Cassar froze. As if there wasn’t enough death on Isstvan III, now the
Dies Irae
was to fire on the Death Guard, the very force they had been sent to support.
‘Sir,’ he said. ‘This doesn’t make any sense.’
‘It doesn’t need to!’ shouted Turnet, his patience finally at an end. ‘Just do as I order.’
Looking straight into Turnet’s eyes, the truth hit Titus Cassar as though the Emperor had reached out from Terra and filled him with the light of truth.
‘The Isstvanians didn’t do this, did they?’ he asked. ‘The Warmaster did.’
Turnet’s face creased in a slow smile and Cassar saw his hand reaching towards his holstered sidearm.
Cassar didn’t give him the chance to get there first and snatched for his own autopistol.
Both men drew their pistols and fired.
M
AGGARD TOOK A
step forwards, drawing his golden Kirlian blade and unholstering his pistol. His bulk was even more massive than Sindermann remembered, grossly swollen to proportions beyond human and more reminiscent of an Astartes. Had that been Maggard’s reward for his services to the Warmaster?
Without wasting words of preamble, Qruze raised his bolter and fired, but Maggard’s armour was the equal of Astartes plate and the shot simply signalled the beginning of a duel.
Sindermann and Mersadie ducked as Maggard’s pistol spat fire, the noise appalling as the two warriors ran towards one another with their guns blazing.
Keeler watched calmly as Maggard’s gunfire blew chunks from Qruze’s armour, but before he could fire any more, Qruze was upon him.
Qruze smashed his fist into Maggard’s midriff, but the silent killer rode the punch and swung his sword for the Astartes’s head. Qruze ducked back from the great slash of Maggard’s sword, the blade slicing though the armour at the Astartes warrior’s stomach.
Blood sprayed briefly from the wound and Qruze dropped to his knees in sudden pain before drawing his combat knife, the blade as long as a mortal warrior’s sword.
Maggard leapt towards him and his sword hacked a deep gouge in Qruze’s side. Yet more blood spilled from the venerable Astartes’s body. Another killing strike slashed towards Qruze, but this time combat knife and Kirlian blade met in a shower of fiery sparks. Qruze recovered first and stabbed his blade through the gap between Maggard’s greaves. The assassin stumbled backwards and Qruze rose unsteadily to his feet.
The assassin stepped in close and lunged with his sword. Maggard was almost the equal of Qruze in physique and had youth on his side, but even Sindermann could see he was slower, as if his new form was unfamiliar, not yet worn in.
Qruze sidestepped a huge arcing strike of Maggard’s sword and swung inside his opponent’s defence, reaching around to lock his head in the crook of his elbow.
His other arm snapped round to plunge the knife into Maggard’s throat, but a fist seized Qruze’s hand in an iron grip, halting the blade inches from the man’s pulsing jugular.
Qruze fought to force the blade upwards, but Maggard’s newly enhanced strength was the greater and he began to force the blade to one side. Beads of sweat popped on Qruze’s face, and Sindermann knew that this was a struggle he could not win alone.
He pushed himself to his feet and ran towards Maggard’s fallen pistol, its matt black finish cold and lethal-looking. Though designed for a mortal grip, the pistol still felt absurdly huge in his hands. Sindermann held the heavy pistol outstretched and marched towards the struggling warriors. He couldn’t risk a shot from any kind of distance, he was no marksman and was as likely to hit their deliverer as their killer.
He walked up to the fight and placed the muzzle of the pistol directly on the bleeding wound where Qruze had stabbed Maggard. He pulled the trigger and the recoil of the shot almost shattered his wrist, but the effect of his intervention more than made up for the trauma.
Maggard opened his mouth in a silent scream and his entire body flinched in sudden agony. Maggard’s grip on the knife weakened and, with a roar of anger, Qruze punched it into the base of his opponent’s jaw and through the roof of his mouth. Maggard buckled and fell to the side with the force of a falling tree. The golden armoured assassin and the Astartes rolled and Qruze was on top of his enemy, still gripping the knife.
Face to face for a moment, Maggard spat a mouthful of blood into Qruze’s face. Qruze pushed the knife deeper into Maggard’s jaw, plunging it into his opponent’s brain.
Maggard spasmed, his huge bulk thrashing briefly, and when he stopped Qruze was looking into a pair of blank, dead eyes. Qruze pushed himself from Maggard’s body. ‘Face to face,’ said Qruze, breathing heavily with the exertion of killing Maggard. ‘Not with treachery, from a thousand miles up. Face to face.’
He looked at Sindermann and nodded his thanks. The warrior was wounded and exhausted, but there was a calm serenity to him.
‘I remember how it used to be,’ he said. ‘We were brothers on Cthonia. Not just among ourselves, but with our enemies, too. That was what the Emperor saw in us when he came to the hives. We were gangs of killers as existed on a thousand other worlds, but we believed in a code that was more precious than life. That was what he wrought into the Luna Wolves. I thought that even if none of the rest of us remembered, the Warmaster would, because he was the one the Emperor chose to lead us.’
‘No,’ said Keeler, ‘you are the last one.’
‘And when I realized that I just… told them what they wanted to hear. I tried to be one of them, and I succeeded. I almost forgot everything, until… until now.’
‘The music of the spheres,’ said Sindermann quietly.
Qruze’s eyes focused again on Keeler and his face hardened.
‘I did nothing, Half-heard,’ said Keeler, answering his unasked question. ‘You said so yourself. The ways of Cthonia were the reason the Emperor chose you and your brothers for the Luna Wolves. Perhaps it was the Emperor who reminded you.’
‘I saw this coming for so long, but I let it, because I thought that was my code now, but nothing changed, not really. The enemy just moved from out there to amongst us.’
‘Look, as profound as this all is, can we get the hell out of here?’ asked Mersadie.
Qruze nodded and beckoned them towards the Thunderhawk gunship. ‘You’re right, Miss Oliton, let’s get off this ship. It is dead to me now.’
‘We’re with you, captain,’ said Sindermann as he gingerly picked his way over Maggard’s body after Qruze. The years seemed to have dropped from him, as if the energy lost in the fight was returning with interest. Sindermann saw a light in his eyes he hadn’t seen before.