‘The gods of the warp are masters of the primal forces of all reality. As your Emperor creates, the warp decays and destroys. As he brings us to battle, we shall melt away, and as he gathers his strength, we shall strike from the shadows. The victory of the gods is as inevitable as the passing of time and the mortality of flesh. Do the gods not rule an entire universe hidden from your eyes, Warmaster? Have they not made the warp dark at their command?’
‘
Your gods did this? Why? You have blinded my Legions!’
‘Necessity, Warmaster. The darkness blinds the Emperor too, blinds him to our plans and yours. The Emperor thinks himself the master of the warp and he would seek to know his enemies by it, but see how swiftly we can confound him? You will have passage through the warp as you need it, Warmaster, for as we bring darkness, so we can bring light.’
‘
The Emperor remains ignorant of all that has transpired?’
‘Completely,’
sighed Sarr’Kell,
‘and so, Warmaster, you see the power we can give you. All that remains is for your word, and the pact will be made.’
Horus said nothing, as if weighing up the choices before him, and Erebus could sense the growing impatience of the warp creature.
At last the Warmaster spoke again. ‘Soon I shall unleash my Legions against the worlds of the Isstvan system. There I shall set my Legions upon the path of the new Crusade. There are matters that must be dealt with at Isstvan, and I will deal with them in my own way.’
Horus looked over at Erebus and said, ‘When I am done with Isstvan, I will pledge my forces with those of your masters, but not until then. My Legions will go through the fire of Isstvan alone, for only then will they be tempered into my shining blade aimed at the Emperor’s heart.’
The sibilant, roiling chill of Sarr’Kell’s voice hissed as if he took mighty breaths.
‘My masters accept,’
he said at last.
‘You have chosen well, Warmaster.’
The chill wind that had carried the words of the warp entity blew again, stronger this time, its ageless malevolence like the murder of innocence.
Its icy touch slid through Erebus and he drew a cold breath before the sensation faded and the unnatural darkness began to recede, the light of the fire once more illuminating the lodge temple.
The creature was gone and the void of its presence was an ache felt deep in the soul.
‘Was it worth it, Warmaster?’ asked Erebus, releasing the pent up breath he had been holding.
‘Yes,’ said Horus, glancing down at Ing Mae Sing’s body. ‘It was worth it.’
The Warmaster turned to Regulus and said, ‘Adept, I wish the Fabricator General to be made aware of this. I cannot contact him directly, so you will take a fast ship and make for Mars. If what this creature says is true, you will make good time. Kelbor-Hal is to purge his order and make ready for its part in my new Crusade. Tell him that I shall contact him when the time comes and that I expect the Mechanicum to be united.’
‘Of course, Warmaster. Your will be done.’
‘Waste no time, adept. Go.’
Regulus turned to leave and Erebus said, ‘We have waited a long time for this day. Lorgar will be exultant.’
‘Lorgar has his own battles to fight, Erebus,’ replied Horus sharply. ‘Should he fail at Calth, all this will be for nothing if Guilliman’s Legion is allowed to intervene. Save your celebrations for when I sit upon the throne of Terra.’
S
INDERMANN FELT HIS
heart lurch in his chest at the sight of Petronella’s bodyguard coming towards them. The man’s every step was like death approaching and Sindermann cursed himself for having taken so long to get here. His tardiness had killed the saint and would probably see them all dead as well.
Jonah Aruken’s eyes widened as he saw the massive form of the saint’s killer approaching. He turned quickly and said, ‘Titus, grab her. Now!’
‘What?’ asked Cassar. ‘She’s hooked up to all these machines, we can’t just—’
‘Don’t argue with me,’ hissed Aruken. ‘Just do it, we’ve got company, bad company.’
Aruken turned back to Sindermann and hissed, ‘Well, iterator? Is this that single moment you were talking about, where we find out who we really are? If it is, then I’m already regretting helping you.’
Sindermann couldn’t reply. He saw Maggard notice them outside Euphrati’s room and felt a cold, creeping horror as a slow smile spread across the man’s features.
I am going to kill you,
the smile said,
slowly
. ‘Don’t hurt her,’ he whispered, the words sounding pathetic in his ears. ‘Please…’
He wanted to run, to get far away from the evil smile that promised a silent, agonising death, but his legs were lead weights, rooted to the spot by some immense power that prevented him from moving so much as a muscle.
Jonah Aruken slid from the medicae cell, with Titus Cassar behind him, the recumbent form of Euphrati in his arms. Dripping tubes dangled from her arms and Sindermann found his gaze unaccountably drawn to the droplets as they swelled at the ends of the plastic tubes before breaking free and plummeting to the deck to splash in crowns of saline.
Aruken held his pistol out before him, aimed at Maggard’s head.
‘Don’t come any closer,’ he warned.
Maggard did not even slow down and that same deathly smile shone at Jonah Aruken.
With Euphrati still in his arms, Titus Cassar backed away from the relentlessly approaching killer.
‘Come on, damn it,’ he hissed. ‘Let’s go!’
Aruken shoved Sindermann after Cassar and suddenly the spell of immobility that had held him rooted to the spot was broken. Maggard was less than ten paces from them and Sindermann knew that they could not hope to escape without bloodshed.
‘Shoot him,’ shouted Cassar.
‘What?’ asked Aruken, throwing his fellow crewman a desperate glance.
‘Shoot him,’ repeated Cassar. ‘Kill him, before he kills us.’
Jonah Aruken tore his gaze back to the approaching Maggard and nodded, pulling the trigger twice in quick succession. The noise was deafening and the corridor was filled with blinding light and careening echoes. Tiles shattered and exploded as Aruken’s bullets cratered the wall behind where Maggard had been standing.
Sindermann cried out at the noise, backing away after Titus Cassar as Maggard spun out from the sunken doorway in which he had taken cover the instant before Aruken had fired. Maggard’s pistol leapt to his hand and the barrel blazed with light as he fired three times.
Sindermann cried out, throwing up his arms and awaiting the awful pain of bullets tearing into his flesh, ripping through his internal organs and blowing bloody-rimmed craters in his back.
Nothing happened and Sindermann heard a cry of astonishment from Jonah Aruken, who had likewise flinched at the thunderous noise of Maggard’s gun. He lowered his arms and his mouth fell open in amazement at the sight before him.
Maggard still stood there, his muscled arm still holding his wide barrelled pistol aimed squarely at them.
A frozen bloom of light expanded at an infinitesimally slow pace from the muzzle and Sindermann could see a pair of bullets held immobile in the air before them, only the glint of light on metal as they spiralled giving any sign that they were moving at all.
As he watched, the pointed nub of a brass bullet began to emerge from the barrel of Maggard’s gun and Sindermann turned in bewilderment to Jonah Aruken.
The Titan crewman was as shocked as he was, his arms hanging limply at his side.
‘What the hell is going on?’ breathed Aruken.
‘I d-don’t know,’ stammered Sindermann, unable to tear his gaze from the frozen tableau standing in front of them. ‘Maybe we’re already dead.’
‘No, iterator,’ said Cassar from behind them, ‘it’s a miracle.’
Sindermann turned, feeling as if his entire body was numb, only his heart hammering fit to break his chest. Titus Cassar stood at the end of the corridor, the saint held tightly to his chest. Where before Euphrati had lain supine, her eyes were now wide in terror, her right hand extended and the silver eagle that had been burned into her flesh glowing with a soft, inner light.
‘Euphrati!’ cried Sindermann, but no sooner had he given voice to her name than her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her hand dropped to her side He risked a glance back at Maggard, but the assassin was still frozen by whatever power had saved their lives.
Sindermann took a deep breath and made his way on unsteady legs to the end of the corridor. Euphrati lay with her head against Cassar’s chest, as unmoving as she had been for the last year and he wanted to weep to see her so reduced.
He reached up and ran a hand through Euphrates hair, her skin hot to the touch.
‘She saved us,’ said Cassar, his voice awed and humbled by what he had seen.
‘I think you might be right, my dear boy,’ said Sindermann. ‘I think you might be right.’
Jonah Aruken joined him, alternating between casting fearful looks at Maggard and Euphrati. He kept his pistol trained on Maggard and said, ‘What do we do about him?’
Sindermann looked back at the monstrous assassin and said, ‘Leave him. I will not have his death on the saint’s hands. What kind of beginning would it be for the Lectitio Divinitatus if the saint’s first act is to kill. If we are to found a new church in the name of the Emperor it will be one of forgiveness, not bloodshed.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Aruken. ‘He will come after her again.’
‘Then we will keep her safe from him,’ said Cassar. ‘The Lectitio Divinitatus has friends aboard the
Vengeful Spirit
and we can hide her until she recovers. Iterator, do you agree?’
‘Yes, that’s what to do,’ nodded Sindermann, ‘hide her. Keep her safe.’
FIVE
Dark Millennium
Warsinger
L
OKEN HAD NOT
set foot on the strategium for some time, the construction of the Lupercal’s Court rendering it largely without function. In any case, an unspoken order had filtered down from the lodge members that Torgaddon and Loken were no longer to stand alongside the Warmaster and act as the Legion’s conscience.
The isolated strategium platform was suspended above the industrious hubbub of the vessel’s bridge, and Loken leaned over the rail to watch the senior crew of the
Vengeful Spirit
going about the business of destroying Isstvan Extremis.
Warriors of the Death Guard and Emperor’s Children were already in the theatre of war and the enemies of the Warmaster would even now be dying. The thought of not being there to share the danger galled Loken and he wished he could be on that barren rock with his battle-brothers, especially since Torgaddon had told him that Saul Tarvitz was down there.
The last time the Sons of Horus and the Emperor’s Children had met was during the war against the Technocracy and bonds of brotherhood had been re-established between the Legions, formally by the primarchs, and informally by their warriors.
He missed the times he had stood in the presence of his fellow warriors when the talk had been of campaigns past and yet to come. The shared camaraderie of brotherhood was a comfort that was only realised once it was stripped away.
He smiled wryly to himself, whispering, ‘I even miss your tales of “better days”, Iacton.’
Loken turned away from the bridge below and unfolded the piece of paper he had discovered inside the dust jacket of the
Chronicles of Ursh
.
Once again he read the words hurriedly written in Kyril Sindermann’s distinctive spidery scrawl on the ragged page of a notebook.
Even the Warmaster may not deserve your trust. Look for the temple. It will be somewhere that was once the essence of the Crusade.
Remembering Sindermann’s words as he had been forced from the training halls by Maloghurst, Loken had sought out the book from the burnt out stacks of Archive Chamber Three. Much of the archive was still in ruins from the fire that had gutted the chamber and put Euphrati Keeler in a coma. Servitors and menials had attempted to save as many books as they could, and even though Loken was no reader, he was saddened by the loss of such a valuable repository of knowledge.
He had located
The Chronicles of Ursh
with the barest minimum of effort, as if the book had been specifically placed for him to find. Opening the cover, he realised that it had indeed been left there for him, as Sindermann’s note slipped from its pages.
Loken wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, and the idea of a temple aboard the
Vengeful Spirit
seemed laughable, but Sindermann had been deadly serious when he had implored Loken to seek out the book and his note.
It will be somewhere that was once the essence of the Crusade.
He looked up from the note and cast his eyes around the strategium: the raised platform where the Warmaster had delivered his briefings, the niches around the edge where Sons of Horus stood as an honour guard and the vaulted dome of dark steel. Banners hung along the curved wall, indistinct in the gloom, company banners of the Sons of Horus. He hammered his fist against his breastplate as he faced the banner of the Tenth.
If anywhere was once the essence of the Crusade it was the strategium.
The strategium was empty, and it was an emptiness that spoke more of its neglect and its obsolescence than simply the absence of people. It had been abandoned and the ideals once hammered out here had been abandoned too, replaced with something else, something dark.
Loken stood in the centre of the strategium and felt an ache in his chest that was nothing to do with any physical sensation. It took him a moment to realize that there was something out of place here, something present that shouldn’t be: a smell that he didn’t recognize, faint but definitely hanging in the air.
At last he recognized the smell as incense, cloying, and carrying the familiar scent of hot, dry winds that brought sour fragrances of bitter blossoms. His genhanced senses could pick out the subtle aromas mixed into the incense, its scent stronger as he made his way through the strategium hoping to pinpoint its source. Where had he smelt this before?