by Guy Haley
‘It is bigger. It can be smaller.’ Ku’Gath clicked rubbery fingers, and the cauldron shrank down to the size of a coin, fire and all. ‘Or larger.’ There was a flash, and both it and Ku’Gath filled the space, monstrous as the gods themselves.
Mortarion remained resolutely unmoved.
‘Do you think I am entertained by these theatrics?’ he said, staring up at Ku’Gath.
Ku’Gath shrank back to his previous stature. ‘Perhaps, then, you will be impressed by this.’ Keeping his yellow eyes firmly fixed on Mortarion’s cataracted orbs, he thrust his hand under a loose flap of skin, pushing aside fat and muscle tissue as a man might rummage in his pocket. From it he drew out the plague phial, and held it out to the fallen primarch between thumb and forefinger.
‘The Godblight,’ he said quietly, full of awe at his own achievement, though his mood fell immediately when he saw that Mortarion did not share it.
‘Is that it? A dirty glass full of poison?’
By now, Ku’Gath was feeling thoroughly irritated by Mortarion’s manner, and for once he dared to show it.
‘And what would you have, my lord?’ he said acidly. ‘A spiked trinket like those you wear?’ He gestured at the censers and thuribles hanging from Mortarion’s armour. ‘The poisons in them might kill half a world, but this…’ He thrust the phial forward. ‘This will kill a god.’ He tightened his grip. ‘If I were to crush this glass and cast this liquid into your face, then you would die. First, that part of you that was fashioned in the mortal world would perish, in some delicious agony, but that would not be the end, oh no. This disease would chase you into the warp, and eat at your daemon’s soul. It would consume a mortal essence in a trice. It would take a little longer for you, but it would end you. It would even kill me. There is no cure for it. No way to stop it beyond the exertion of the greatest amount of sorcery. Once it is released, the mortals will flee. They would have to destroy this world to prevent its spread.’ He peered lovingly at it, his tongue flopping messily from his mouth. ‘It is bacterium, phage, virus, rogue protein, parasite, cancer, mutant gene-code and more all in one. It is alive as you are alive, aware as we are aware. It thinks, and all it wishes is to infect, infect, infect. The Destroyer Plague is a nothing compared to this. The Rot is a sniffle. It is my finest creation.’
Mortarion reached for the phial, but Ku’Gath drew it back.
‘You must be careful when you administer the dose,’ said Ku’Gath. ‘Prick him. Inject him. It must go into his body. If it is exposed to the air it will afflict you as well.’
‘Understood,’ said Mortarion.
‘And stay clear of any secondary effusion his body may give, or you will also die.’
‘A mighty gift.’
Ku’Gath nodded. ‘Perhaps its concoction will please Grandfather, and he will finally forgive me. He was watching me, you know, when I finished it. A great eye in the sky!’
‘As I hear it, you are his favourite,’ said Mortarion, who could not keep up his sourness now the promised weapon had been revealed, and sounded almost impressed.
‘Then perhaps I can finally forgive myself for the error of my birth,’ said Ku’Gath. ‘With this disease, I have earned my name. I am the Plaguefather, well and truly. So you see, it needs no fancy container to accentuate its value. Anything like those,’ Ku’Gath gestured at Mortarion’s adornments again, causing the primarch’s nurglings to stick their noses in the air, ‘would only diminish its glory.’ Ku’Gath shook the test tube, causing little motes of light to dance around in the greater glow of the plague. ‘This is a fitting vessel. Simple, dirty, effective, as all Nurgle’s best gifts are, and I am giving it to you.’ Ku’Gath extended the phial towards Mortarion again. ‘So I will have a little more respect. Please.’ His voice was level and firm. Despite his exalted rank in the hierarchy of pestilence, it took all his will to stand up to the daemon primarch so.
Mortarion took the Godblight, weighed the phial in his hand, then tucked it away. ‘Understood, oh father of plagues. You have aided me well, my ally, and soon we shall both reap the rewards of Nurgle’s pleasure.’
‘Well,’ said Ku’Gath. ‘We’d best be swift. If we can conquer Ultramar, it will garner us much glory in the garden, but if we fail, and we also do not heed the horns of war calling all back to the Scourge Stars, then we shall both suffer for it.’
Mortarion’s change in humour was instant and terrifying. Before Ku’Gath could gather what was happening, Silence was whistling through the air in a double-handed sweep. It came to a stop a particle’s breadth from Ku’Gath’s nose, where it quivered with the force Mortarion was obliged to employ to arrest its progress, the metal of its yards-long blade humming.
‘Speak not to me of this new war,’ he snarled.
‘But Lord Mortarion, Nurgle himself commands that we…’
The small chainblade attachment on Silence’s tip whirred into motion.
‘Do not speak of it,’ hissed Mortarion. ‘Does Grandfather think I cannot defend my own holdings? Typhus returns with the First Plague Company and more besides. No daemon army can stand against him.’
‘He does not go at your command, my lord, but at Nurgle’s. You delude yourself. Typhus heeded the call, so should we. Nurgle’s bounties are endless, and he is inclined more to generosity than wrath, but he should not be crossed, not ever!’
Silence moved infinitesimally closer. Close enough that Ku’Gath wondered if his Neverborn soul would survive contact with it.
‘You chose to serve me to advance yourself. Do so, or I shall kill you. Or bind you to my will. There is space in the scythe to house another daemon,’ Mortarion said. ‘We finish this war. We win it. Then we attend to the other. Nurgle shall be pleased with us. There shall be no other outcome. I do as I want. I am no one’s slave. Not the Emperor’s, and not Nurgle’s. You chose to aid me, so aid me. Understood?’
Ku’Gath’s eyes went to the brass censer at the head of the weapon. In there was another being much like him, trapped. Ku’Gath did not doubt Mortarion could enslave him also. He swallowed. His tongue was suddenly, awfully dry.
‘Understood,’ said Ku’Gath.
Mortarion held Silence perfectly still in front of Ku’Gath’s face, then pulled it back, and set the butt back down upon the floor.
‘I am pleased we have an understanding. Do not worry, Plaguefather,’ Mortarion said, without anger. ‘All goes to plan.’
‘Perhaps I can aid you there,’ said Ku’Gath, keen to regain favour.
‘How so?’ said Mortarion scornfully. He did not rate Ku’Gath as much other than a brewer of ailments.
‘I have information.’
‘What information?’
Ku’Gath gave a conspiratorial wink, rather spoiling things as his loose eye popped free of his face. He hastily stuffed it back in.
‘It was the Tattleslug who told me, do you know it?’
Mortarion gave Ku’Gath a withering look. ‘Should I?’
Ku’Gath pursed his lips. ‘I should not be surprised, useful though the Tattleslug is. It is a little thing, very lesser, of no consequence to the likes of you or I,’ he said, waving his hand airily around, ‘but that is much to its advantage, for it passes unseen and unnoticed. Its abilities as a spy are marked.’
‘This Tattleslug brought you news?’
‘It did,’ said Ku’Gath proudly. ‘I told it to. I sent it to First Landing, where it overheard the Anathema’s son, erm… your brother,’ Ku’Gath added quickly, ‘laying out his strategy. It has performed many valuable services for me over eternity, and reported to me shortly before I finished the blight.’
‘Then bring it to me, so I might question it closely.’
Ku’Gath’s face became more miserable than ever. ‘Alas, my servant is dead, slain by the Anathema’s witches. The Tattleslug has tattled its last.’
‘Then,’
said Mortarion, ‘what use is anything it said?’
Ku’Gath raised fat, puffy-skinned hands in placation. ‘Oh lord of unparalleled puissance, I ask you, please be calm. It told them nothing before it died. How could it, when it was fried to a crisp in the fires of their sorceries? I felt it die, it gave me a most pleasing heartburn. I promise you they learned nothing, whereas I,’ Ku’Gath licked his black lips, ‘I learned everything.’
Mortarion’s aura flickered with energies black and purple, like flames they were to Ku’Gath’s eyes, and in their dancing he saw the Lord of Death’s renewed desire to strike him down.
Oh Lord of Death, Ku’Gath thought, your assumed name tells all – you shall never be as mighty as you could be, because death is but half Grandfather’s bounty. Without rebirth, what use is death? This is why you fail.
He did not relay this thought to the half-daemon.
‘Shall I tell you, or shall I not?’ Ku’Gath said into the full force of Mortarion’s glare.
The Lord of Death relaxed a little, hunching over, cadaverous and weary. ‘Do so, then I shall decide upon the merits of your information.’
‘Guilliman has only part of the tale. He is aware you intend to kill him. He knows Pestiliax is the centre of your efforts, and suspects you wish to steal the realm from under him. He apprehends also that there is an artefact here that serves as the lynchpin to your web of decay.’
‘It is self-evident he knows this. He is Roboute Guilliman, a primarch! He is my brother, he is not a fool!’ snarled Mortarion. Angry plumes of vapour jetted from his respirator.
That does not, thought Ku’Gath, mean that genius runs in the family.
‘Ah, now now,’ said Ku’Gath. ‘There is what he does not know, and in that we can find our road to victory!’
‘And what, pray tell, is that?’ said Mortarion. He turned his back and took station by the cauldron, and was peering into its empty belly.
‘He does not know we intend to unleash a plague the likes of which has never been seen before. He does not know that what we have here is not some…’ He chose his next words carefully. ‘Cunningly contrived clock, but a living echo of Nurgle’s own cauldron.’ He rapped his knuckle upon the side of the rusty iron and it boomed. ‘He is unaware of the power we hold against him. We have him at a great disadvantage. Indeed, he is so unsure that before it perished, my spy reported that he will hold at First Landing to await you. He will be easily trapped there, and the plague delivered.’
Though they stood at the cauldron together, Mortarion’s face was still obscured from Ku’Gath, and at that point the Plaguefather saw that the primarch’s shoulders were shaking. He took it first for an ague, but no, it was laughter, huffed out through his respirator with clouds of stinking, acrid fumes.
‘You daemons are so narrow-minded. You are a fool, you are all fools!’
‘I am sorry?’ Ku’Gath said, taken aback.
The Lord of Death turned to look at him. ‘Of course he will know. He plays with us. Do you think such an effort as creating the Godblight can be undertaken without his knowing? Mortals are not blind, Ku’Gath, and we primarchs are the mightiest among them.’
‘I did not mean to…’ Ku’Gath began. Mortarion hissed at him, and stepped in close.
‘Guilliman has his sorcerers, his Librarians and his slave-aeldari seer. His eyes are everywhere. The warp floods the universe with raw power, and though it benefits us more than our enemies, they use it against us.’
‘Ah, I see, I had not thought of that.’
‘No, you hadn’t, and he has something you discount.’
‘And that is?’ said Ku’Gath, who wished that Mortarion would just go away.
‘He has his mind! He will have anticipated all of this. Do you think he would come down to a planet we have partially dragged into the Garden of Nurgle already and spout his plans for all and sundry to hear? Whatever this Tattleslug heard, it will have been meant to hear. No, I have no doubt Guilliman wishes to provoke me into open battle, as I wish to provoke him the same. Both of us desire to set the stage of our confrontation, but this is not the only consideration.’ Mortarion looked skyward. ‘There will be others on their way here, do not doubt it. They will strike at the cauldron, because he will know, one way or another, that within it rests the wellspring of our power. If he destroys it, our web of decay will be dealt a fatal blow, and all will be lost. There are two ways we can lose. The loss of the cauldron, or my death. I think you are the weaker target.’ Mortarion gave him a beady stare. ‘You must prepare for battle.’
‘Me?’ said Ku’Gath, who was not fond of battle, and had had enough to last a millennium at the plains of Hecatone. ‘Here?’
‘Yes, you. Yes, here. They will come. They will attempt every means to deprive us of Nurgle’s Cauldron. Look to the skies. Look to the warp. Guilliman will not attempt a full-scale ground assault. It is not his preferred manner of war, certainly not under these delightful conditions you have provided about the mill. You could expect an orbital drop or bombardment, and he will try these things, but he will suspect, as I know, that neither of those things will work.’
‘Then I am safe?’ said Ku’Gath, adding hurriedly, ‘The cauldron, I mean.’
‘Oh no. There are other ways, other means. They could come from the land. They could come from the warp. I would guess he will send the Emperor’s Talons after you here. The null maidens, the Emperor’s own guardians, perhaps the Grey Knights.’ Mortarion said this last with a scowling mien, and hunched deeper, remembering the insult done to his heart by the warriors of Titan. ‘All his finest daemon slayers, you can be sure.’
‘But… but… my Plague Guard is ravaged,’ said Ku’Gath. ‘Many of my best warriors were slain on Parmenio, and await rebirth. My lieutenants dream in their pods in the garden. Why, Septicus Seven endured the true death!’
‘Then if you do not wish to enjoy the same, find yourself more warriors, and quickly. They are coming here. Make no mistake.’
‘Will you send your Plague Marines to help me?’
‘No,’ said Mortarion. ‘Guilliman’s forces here are immense. If he commits the majority to First Landing, I will need all of my Legion that I can muster to attack him.’
‘Release the plague now then!’ said Ku’Gath. ‘It will cross the planet, and kill him, and we can be away.’
‘No.’
‘No? No?’ said Ku’Gath shrilly.
‘I must see him be infected. I have to see him suffer.’ He turned away. ‘He has to understand why I did what I did,’ he said quietly.
‘Your hubris will kill us all. You cannot be overconfident. We have the advantage now, use it!’
‘It is not hubris, though I wish to best him, I cannot deny, and I wish even more to see him die. It is practicality. Release it now, and he has the chance to escape, and to burn this world to cinders from orbit, your plague along with it. He suffers the same strictures, too. He wishes to make sure I am dead. He needs to know for certain the cauldron is destroyed. The gaming pieces mirror each other exactly. All that must be decided are the strategies we choose, and I think we will the choose the same. King against king, but first he will attempt to sweep the board of pawns.’
The very tone and content of Mortarion’s speech sparked such a fury in Ku’Gath it was all he could do not to strike the primarch down right there. A pawn, was he a pawn?
‘Well. Right,’ said Ku’Gath frostily. ‘Then I shall begin a muster.’
‘You should. There is another thing we must take into account. In the creation of strategy, we must consider what Guilliman actually knows, what he professes to know, what he intends to do, what he knows of our intentions, and what he conceals of all of these things.’
‘Naturally,’ said Ku’Gath irritably, for he was reckoned no mean general in his own right.
‘Be warier still, there is a further factor.’
‘Which is?’ said Ku’Gath, who had never thought like a mortal and never could.
‘There is that which he does not know and does not intend.’
‘Surely that is a good thing.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mortarion with a shrug of his broad wings. ‘But in my experience, when fighting my brother, it is these unseen circumstances that work against me. I hate to give him credit, but he was always a more flexible tactician than I, so let us limit his options. If you wish to give me a true gift, Ku’Gath, brew me up a storm. Pull in the rot and disease of this world, and weave about Pestiliax a shroud. There will be no aid for Guilliman from his fleets once battle commences. We have him where Grandfather demands he be. Let him not spoil it for us. Let this be a contest of brothers, not of armies.’
‘Oh, so you have an unparalleled plague, and now you want a storm?’ said Ku’Gath huffily.
‘Yes.’
‘A warp storm.’
‘Is there another kind?’ With that Mortarion spread his wings. His coterie of imps squealed, recognising the signs of departure, and ran to grab his boots. ‘Just do as I say, Ku’Gath.’ A single, silent beat sent the primarch powering into the air, where he vanished into the clouds.
‘Do as I say?’ Ku’Gath gritted black teeth. There was a pitiful squeal, and he looked down. A single one of Mortarion’s nurglings had failed to grab his master’s boot, and remained behind. Its pride had departed, and it looked quiveringly to Ku’Gath for mercy.
‘Not so haughty now, eh?’ Ku’Gath said, and drove his foot down hard upon the nurgling. For good measure he ground his heel into its remains. ‘Guilliman is not the only one who may perform the unexpected,’ he said, thinking of the half-drop of blood in its bottle, hidden under another fold of flesh. He looked to the sky a moment longer. It was decidedly calm. Then he turned about and waddled away.